Flames
by ileftmyscar
Summary: A prostitute with nothing left to lose. A man with everything at stake. A marriage that has lost its passion. A little crazy, a little messed up, and mostly insatiable. A burning passion that can't be controlled. A language more along the lines of breathless moans and whispered promises. A love where words are burnt.
1. Prologue

**Flames**

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

_Your arms are the safest haven._

_Your heartbeat is the sweetest sound._

_Your laughter is like sunshine._

_Your gaze makes me feel cherished._

_Your lips make me feel beautiful._

_Your words find their home on my skin._

_Your skin is warm like the winter sun – not too much, but enough to warm me down to my chilled bones._

_The time you share with me is all I think of when we're not together._

_The smiles you give me are the most real ones._

_The tears you give me make me human._

_The soul you have is that of a beautiful man, through and through._

_You are an angel. You are a sinner. And you are my reflection._

_To me, our sin together is more powerful than all miracles combined._

_And if that is love, then yes, I love you._

I watch every crease in the paper. I have folded and unfolded this more times than I can remember. In every word, there is a piece of me. Of him. Sometimes, he sleeps here, but only for an hour or so. I stay up and watch him sleep. Sometimes, I steal a kiss or two. Or ten. Sometimes, he smiles. Sometimes, he rolls over and grumbles, making _me_ smile. These are the few precious hours I get with him, and some nights I feel so much that my heart threatens to burst. But I can't afford to be a dreamer. I can't fall into wishful thinking. We are what we are – little crazy, a little fucked up, and mostly insatiable. I love it. I hate it. It's a passion I can't control. And when it gets overwhelming, I put my words on paper. On this paper. Not much needs to be said, for talk is cheap. Our language is more along the lines of breathless moans and grunts and whispered promises that will never be seen through.

This is our life.

And tonight, we are making us last forever. We are setting our story on fire.

* * *

**A/N: I don't own The Twilight Saga; it owns me.**

**This will serve as my one and only (annoyingly long and spoiler free) A/N and disclaimer – kindly bear with me for a minute, before you proceed to the official first chapter.**

**This was my entry for the FicThisGIF contest, hosted by the GIF–Queen JadaLulu/Jada Pattinson, who writes the awesome story Fold Your Wings and somehow always manages to put a smile on my face.**

**The judges included a **_**lot**_** of my favorite authors and I was honored to be a part of this experience. (Although I hyperventilated and fangirled majorly all through it.) I didn't win anything, but my entry was jessypt's (one of the judges') choice. :) All other entries are here – www . fanfiction u / 3958398 / FicThisGifAnonContest**

**The prompt I chose was this - 30 . media . tumblr tumblr _ m26ehj4tI91r1vfbso1 _ 500 . gif**

**Initially this was a gigantic O/S but because of the word limit, I couldn't give these characters the closure they deserved. So here it will be a full, multi–chaptered fic.** **The first nine chapters are what I had sent as the O/S in the contest. I am not splitting them up for more reviews. It's just that I wrote them as episodes and want to present them as such, although** **the timeline is linear. Whether you wish to review each chapter or not is up to you. No hard feelings. :)**

**This isn't a drabble/dribble/whatever – just moments. The chapters will be short – around 1k to 3k – and the story will most probably have around 15 to 20 chapters at most, depending on how I wrap it up.** **It will mostly be Bella's POV. If it's Edward's POV, I'll mention it on top.**

**After the first nine chapters (which I will upload today itself), updates will be weekly. Every Saturday or Sunday – depending on which time zone you are in.**

**If you have read my work before, you know I love angst and I like to interpret things as realistically as possible, so no rainbows and sunshine and unicorns. Same rule applies here, although the plot is very, **_**very**_** different to anything I have ever written. You are welcome to join the ride. Just have a little faith in me. :)**

**Thank you for reading.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**_  
_

* * *

_Sometimes I go back to the start…back to where the spark ignited._

–

He kisses me languidly, his tongue invading my mouth and his hand gliding down my back till he is cupping my ass. We are surrounded by so many people but he is big on PDA. Me? Whoever gave me the right to have an opinion on it?

"Mmm…people are looking at us," I whisper as I pull away.

He just moves his lips down my throat. "Why does it matter, darling?" he asks between kisses.

I shrug. "It's a formal event, and there are a lot of people with sticks up their asses. I don't think they would consider this as appropriate. In fact, I can practically feel the disapproval radiating off your mom."

He sighs and looks around. I follow his gaze and I am right. Sure enough, quite a few grownups are looking in our general direction, even though we are in a dark corner. They look like they are chewing on lemons.

He runs his hand through his blonde hair. "Fuck this. Let's go back to the hotel."

"Jasper, please. You bought me this new dress and these shoes…at least let me show off for a while," I bat my eyelashes in that seductive way I've learnt to do. _Please delay the sex as much as you can._

He grins at me. His left cheek has a dimple. I would be attracted to him if I wasn't who I am. _What_ I am.

"Alright, fine. Let me get a drink."

He gives me one more kiss before he disappears into the crowd, going where the bar is set up. I use the distance to take a deep breath and call over the waiter. Unlike Jasper, I'm not that picky with my alcohol. He wants his drink the way he wants it – with all his instructions of this much this and this much that. I just want something to ignite my fucking throat and make me numb. I grab a glass full of whiskey and head off towards the staircase. The party is in a penthouse, so I am glad that I only need to climb two sets of stairs in this floor length silver dress and high heels. I open the door that leads to the roof. Jasper will call me when he can't find me. Till then I have time to at least check out the skyline, get some air, and prepare myself for what I know is going to happen once we're out of here.

I take a large gulp of my drink as I walk to the railing, and shudder at the taste. _Fuck_, that burns so good. For about a minute I can't think of anything else but the view before me and the fire in my throat.

But then my phone vibrates inside my clutch and I curse. Loudly. I don't pick up. I scowl at thin air and throw back the rest of my drink, this time grunting at the discomfort. I am out of practice with this alcohol thing. My scalp prickles and at first I think it's the alcohol, but then I sense movement behind me. It's the sense of being watched.

A throat is cleared discreetly and then I hear a low whistle.

"That was impressive," a soft voice says. I turn to my right to stare at him. He's dressed in all black, but his jacket is undone, and so are the upper two buttons on his shirt. For a black tie event, he looks a bit messy. His hair is…well, thoroughly fucked. Or he looks like he has been. At least his shoes are polished.

"Are you checking me out?" he asks wryly. "What's with the creepy head to toe inventory?"

"Like you don't check out women. I have a theory that black tie events were invented just to encourage ogling. Why else would they put everyone in such uncomfortable clothes?"

He laughs. "Touché. Speaking of ogling, you have a nice ass."

I crack a smile. "I've heard that one before."

"I would be disappointed in the male species if you hadn't," he grins, and under the moonlight, I take a proper look at his face. Holy fuck, he is gorgeous. Like one of those ridiculously handsome guys that every girl wants but is too intimidated to approach. The kinds that make straight men insecure. The kinds that step out of GQ magazine or some shit. His hair is brown. Or reddish brown. It's hard to tell in this light. His lips are full and pouty, and red from the wine that he has in his hand. And his eyes…

Wait.

My smile falters and I take a step back instinctively. I know him. Or I think I do. I can't be sure, but he reminds me of a guy I used to know…back when I had a normal life. He had such a face. Such eyes. Such green, beautiful, _kind_ eyes that would crinkle whenever he smiled. And he smiled at me back then…a long, long time ago.

"Are you alright?" he asks, sounding concerned.

I'm not so sure so I just shake my head.

"Do you want me to take you back to Jasper?"

My eyes flash up to his. "You know him?"

"He's…" he hesitates. "Well, he's my friend. Sort of."

Speak of the devil…my phone vibrates again. I put my empty glass on the floor and take my phone out of the clutch. I tell Jasper I'm in the washroom, and will join him in a couple of minutes.

When I hang up, this guy blurts out, "Don't date him."

I raise a brow and resist the urge to snort. "Oh, yeah?"

"He's not a good guy. I needed to warn you, and that's why I followed you up here."

"Wow, Samaritan. So nice of you," I mutter.

"Look, I…" He runs a hand through his hair, which just fucks it up even more. Then all of a sudden he holds out his hand. "I'm Edward Cullen."

I gasp, and my mouth hangs open. He looks confused, and takes his hand back awkwardly when I don't shake it. He then fidgets with the almost empty wine glass in his other hand.

"You don't remember…" I whisper, more to myself. But I do. I remember him.

"What?"

"Me. You don't remember me."

"Um…should I?"

I shrug. "Not really, um…" I look for words to explain, mentally slapping myself for even _wanting_ to explain, and suddenly, I grin. "When you were fourteen, your mom wanted you to play the piano in the local church."

His eyes narrow to slits. "How do you know about that?"

I purse my lips, trying hard not to laugh. "The church was being decorated for Christmas by the kids from Forks Middle School. You helped a girl put the decorations because she couldn't reach the top of the tree and you were taller. But you had to climb atop the small chair to do it, and you fell and sprained your wrist. Your mom was furious. But you were relieved that you wouldn't have to embarrass yourself in front of your friends who were oh–so–cool. Rings a bell?"

"I did help a…?" he mumbles to himself and his eyes widen in a few seconds. Then he looks at me again, this time more carefully. "You're…you're her? You're Chief Swan's daughter?"

I flinch and look away. "Yeah."

"Bella, was it not? Bella Swan. Oh my God, what the hell happened to you?"

I give him a bitch brow.

"I mean…I didn't mean to imply that…" he stammers. "I just…wow, you've changed."

"It's called growing up."

"Wow."

"You haven't changed at all, though. Still the same gangly, red–headed fucker."

"Brown," he says exasperatedly. "My hair is brown. Oh for God's sake…"

I bite my cheek to stop the grin. I only know him from those couple of years. His family had moved away before I turned sixteen. We were never good friends. Just classmates. He was way too 'cool' for my nerdy league. Our conversations were limited to whatever assignments we were given in the classes we shared. We tried to help each other out. I never forgot how guilty I felt for _months_ that he sprained his wrist because of me.

"I must be going now. It was nice to meet you again, Edward," I say softly, snapping myself out of my thoughts, and turning to leave.

"Wait, Bella, please." In two long strides he is in front of me. "I need to talk to you about Jasper."

I roll my eyes and keep walking. He walks with me. "We're not that serious," I say lamely.

"You don't understand. Like I said, he's not a very good person."

I chuckle. "I thought you were his friend."

"Family, actually. I, uh, I'm married to his sister."

_Oh_. "Oh." Where is my eloquence when I need it?

"Yeah, well. He's just…he's a major flirt. And the worst part is that he wants physical intimacy with no strings attached."

"I don't think you should be outing your brother–in–law's dirty laundry to some girl you used to know."

"Well, you seem like a decent woman, and I don't want you to get hurt."

_A decent woman._ That one hits like a blow to the gut. "I'm not," I say with a frown.

"That's not the point." He halts when we are at the empty staircase and I am forced to look at him. He speaks in a very low voice. "He visits strip clubs and…those places…rather frequently." He looks around, leans closer and whispers as if he's about to confess to a murder. "He pays for sex. He has broken way too many hearts and spent way too much money on…prostitutes." His expression is like he has violated his mouth just by saying 'prostitute.'

"I appreciate your concern," I mutter.

"How would someone like you end up with that douchebag, anyway?" he asks as if he is genuinely concerned.

I snort, and give him a bitter smile. "If he frequents whorehouses and tells you about it, how come you don't know yet how he found _me_?"

And then I rush down the stairs without looking back. He knows me. He is the only person who knows who I was, and now will know who I am. Why did I open my mouth? I can't face that. I left my home, I left my life, I left it all back in Forks.

For the first time in ten years, this is my past catching up. And it's all my fault.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

_Sometimes, I think of that little burn that the first spark left behind._

–

The lights are low as always in this room. Maria, my only sort–of friend here waits the tables, and when a client is led to this room, it's her job to make sure he signs the form and pays first. We don't do shit half–assed. Can't say we love our jobs, but we do love our paychecks.

I unpin my hair and rake a hand through it. It's worse in summers. The air conditioner never works right and Marcus, the manager of the club, never does shit about it.

"He paid for an hour, doll," Maria drawls in her Southern accent and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

I never have any words before I do this, so I just nod and watch her as she places the chilled champagne and the glasses on the bedside table and walks out, closing the door behind her.

Seconds later, the door opens again and a man walks in, shuffling his feet uncomfortably and with his hands in his pocket. He fidgets. He looks like he'll run any moment. First timer. I can sense those.

"Hey," I say casually, waiting for him to step closer so I can see his face. Like I said – the lights are dim in here.

If it was possible, he goes even more rigid – pun unintended – and nervously rakes a hand through his hair. The action throws me off a bit but I shrug and take a step in his direction. I'll have to do all the work here.

"Uh," he starts, and I could just laugh at how his voice sounds. It's almost a squeak. I stop moving.

"Just don't piss your pants or anything," I deadpan, and am rewarded with a small, awkward chuckle.

He finally moves towards me, towards the light from the lamp, and it's like time stops. I always read about such silly moments in silly novels, watch them in silly movies, and wonder about the general silliness of the human mind. Like, how can time stop? But it does. It genuinely _does_. Except, there is nothing romantic about it.

I reach for the glass on the table, fully intending to throw it on the wall behind him to scare him off, because how _dare_ he?

"Don't…don't do that, please. I can explain."

I grit my teeth. Customer service, be damned. "How the hell did you…just…what the fuck?"

He shrugs, finally taking his hands out of his pockets. "I wanted to see you again."

At first I don't get it. I don't understand why he would want to. And then he steps forward even more and sits down on the bed, and I realize that I don't _have_ to get it. It's like a reflex now. I follow suit and take the two steps till I'm standing right in front of him. He looks up at me hesitantly and red covers his cheeks. I would find that endearing anywhere else, but not in this room. Here, it's just a matter of making him comfortable, which he clearly isn't.

I push his shoulder gently, and his face contorts in what I can only describe as panic.

"Um, Bella, I, uh…"

"Shh."

I take off his jacket first. He's still in his office clothes, and I can see the sweat on his neck. Fuck that air conditioner. I loosen his tie next but don't take it off. It looks sexy, hanging loosely around his neck. I look at his face and the doubt in his eyes is palpable, but I know I can take it away. I put a knee up on the bed, near his thigh, and when his hands go to my waist to support me, I climb on the bed fully, so I am straddling his lap, with my arms around his neck. The zipper on my thigh–high boots is making this a lot more uncomfortable for me than it has to be, but I've left them on anyway. Most guys like it.

"So," I breathe against his ear, "what do you wanna do?"

He gulps and shakes his head a little, as if to clear it. "Nothing."

I smile and plant a small kiss under his ear. He shivers. "You want _me_ to do all the work?"

"No, I –"

"I've been told I suck pretty well," I whisper and suck on his earlobe.

He leans away and I have to pull back to look at him. His face is red as a tomato.

"Aw, you're cute," I tell him honestly. "Never done this before, have you?"

He shakes his head again, and doesn't meet my eyes. That could also be because his eyes are glued to my boobs, which are pretty spectacular in this corset.

"Can we talk?" he asks softly.

I raise a brow. "Dirty talk does it for you?"

"No, no, like, normal talk."

"Nothing about being here is normal, sweetheart." I roll my eyes. "Be more specific."

"How did you end up here?" he blurts out.

I clench my jaw. This is what I was afraid of. Nothing good ever comes out of _this_ talk.

I shift so I'm back on the bed, leaning against the pillows seductively. I reach out and grab his tie, pulling him to me. "Come here and maybe I'll tell you, Edward..."

As it turns out, he is serious about the _talk_ talk. He doesn't let me try anything even remotely sexual. He just about runs away from me if I try to touch him. He wants details of my life – details I don't want to give him.

"You know…we could be friends," he murmurs as he sips his champagne.

"Spoken like a true social worker." I bring my glass to my lips but pause. "Wait – you aren't actually a social worker, are you?"

"No, I work in finance."

And so he tells me all about his life. He's pretty naïve and trusting for baring his soul to a…prostitute…but who am I to complain? He just paid five hundred dollars for this hour. If he wants to be stupid, then he can be stupid all he wants. At least there's champagne.

I get to know small but significant details. He doesn't love his wife. He has a three year old daughter who is his world, and his reason to stay with his wife. He is rich and spoils his daughter. He is still in contact with the pimpled boy Mike who was in our class in Forks Middle School. His mom is still as crazy as she was back then. His sister is still a bundle of energy and starts most conversations with 'Oh my God'.

He even tells me that it makes him uncomfortable that I do this for a living.

"Technically, I pole–dance," I correct him.

"I know that," he says. "I saw downstairs. You've got some stellar moves."

I smile at his attempt to bring normalcy to this whole conversation. "Your hour is almost up."

He frowns. "Will you call me?"

I force my face into a blank mask. "I don't do morning–after."

"Come on, Bella, you know that's not what I'm talking about."

"_You_ are completely ignoring the fact that I'm a whore."

He flinches. "Just call me. Here's my number." He hands me his card. "Please," he adds in a whisper.

I let out a long breath. "I'll think about it."

I take off his jacket from around my shoulders – he put it there because seeing so much of my skin, erm, bothered him – and usher him out of the room with a smile and an 'It was nice to see you'.

Because it was. For the first time, it was _nice_ to see someone in _this_ room.

–

This is how we begin. I eventually end up calling him a couple of weeks later – of course – because even whores need friends sometimes. And he is a great friend. He totally cleans the vomit I am passed out in when he arrives to my apartment for the first time. Somehow, I managed to call him, give him my correct address, _and_ tell him where the spare key was hidden, minutes before I passed out from the alcohol.

He cleans me up, hears me cry, lets me wipe snot on his crisp shirt, and lets me sleep, wrapped around his arm like a baby koala. He leaves god–knows–when, and I wake up to a cup of coffee (gone cold, though) and a note under the cup.

'_You said in your sleep that you are so alone. You're not. I'm here. – E'_


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

_Sometimes, the flame needs to be rekindled, and I am glad you stirred in me a desire to be better. To strive for something bigger. To get beyond what I am. To live._

–

This is the third time he is in my apartment, and this is the first time I am completely sober in his presence.

It's been three weeks since the last time he was here – not that I'm counting or anything – and his hair has grown out. It looks pretty uncontrollable. I ask him why he doesn't cut it.

"Don't have the time."

"You have time to visit your local whore, but no time to get a haircut?"

"Will you please _stop_ calling yourself that?" he says exasperatedly, running a hand through his locks, messing them up further.

"Call a spade a spade, man. Don't get your panties in a twist. I don't sugarcoat stuff, and I'm not new to this."

He looks at me sadly. "How long?"

"How long have I been doing this?"

He nods.

"That's a complicated question…" I mumble to myself and think. "Let's see. I left home when I was eighteen, started working at the club when I was twenty two. I used to wait on tables back then. Then Maria trained me in pole–dancing, so I did that after a year." I take a deep breath. "I sold my body for the first time when I was…twenty four. Yeah, I remember that one." I chuckle bitterly. "It was a week before my birthday. Worst birthday I ever spent, bent over for a nameless guy."

"We're thirty now," he says. His face is ashen as he chokes out, "Six years. You've lived this way for six years. Twelve if we count it all."

I shrug.

"Just…why?"

I reach out and place a hand on his. "I don't want you to waste your time on feeling bad for me. No one forced me to do this, okay? I made some shitty choices and this is where it led me. You don't have to feel sorry for me."

"Bella, you used to be my friend. This is hard for me."

I lean back and sigh. "It's not as hard once you've had this many years to think over it. I used to cry a lot in the beginning, but I learned pretty quickly that nothing becomes of it. It's as productive as banging your head against a wall. No one gives a shit."

"You couldn't go back?" he asks softly.

"No." And my tone is enough for him to get a hint that this is not up for discussion.

"I'm sure there are some social services…"

"I don't want to live on someone's charity. What you read on paper – what is theoretically true – does not always translate to reality. Step out of your naïve dreamland, Edward. Like I said, no one gives a shit. Try sitting on the roadside with a '_Homeless_' board. No one looks up. People drive by in their fancy cars and walk past in their fancy clothes and shoes, shaking their heads in disgust and wishing people like me never existed to taint their pretty city with filth."

"You did that? You were homeless?" He looks so heartbroken that _I_ have the urge to comfort _him_.

"Homeless, hungry, with nothing to my name." I shake my head to rid myself of the images. I would do anything to make sure I never have to repeat that. Then I snort. "You know, it's funny, even people on streets do this – exchange sex for bare necessities. At least doing this in a prestigious club saves me from STDs." I shrug and extend my arm to take his empty coffee mug from his hands, but he grabs my wrist instead and pulls me to his side of the couch. Without a word, he wraps his arms around my shoulders and tucks my face against the crook of his neck.

"Promise me you'll tell me if you need anything," he begs.

"I'm _not_ anybody's charity case, Edward."

"_Please_. I won't let you go through something like this. I won't."

"That's sweet of you, but –"

"Wait," he cuts me off and pulls back to grab me by my shoulders. He looks excited. "I could get you a job at my company right now and –"

"Shut up." I have to stop this before it goes any further. "I know where you are going with this, and _no._ The answer is no." His face falls and I have to steel my resolve. "For the third time, Edward, _I will not be a charity case_. You've already been far too kind to me and thank you, truly, for caring about me at all, but I can't."

"I'm not making you a charity case. This is what a friend would offer to another friend," he insists.

I put a hand on his cheek, pull myself up and give him a tiny kiss on the nose. "Thank you. I've never had a better friend. But I can't. I'm sorry. I should tell you though, that I'm saving for college."

He smiles. "Really? You want to study now?"

I blush, uncomfortable. "I mean, I should at least be smart, right? When I left home, I left with a guy I just about pledged my life to. I never got to go to college." I stop myself. I've never talked about this before – to _anyone_.

"And?" he asks softly, and it's the acceptance in his eyes that keeps me going. He won't judge. He never does. He's my friend – my best friend.

I take a deep breath. _I can do it. For him, I can._

"And we lived together in bliss, but it only lasted a few months out of the two years that I was with him. He lost his job – he was a few years older – and then got into gambling and addiction soon afterwards. It was a downward spiral. He was supposed to support me for college, but I ended up doing odd jobs to make sure we had food on the table. Then one day he just up and left after we had a huge fight…I don't even know where he went. He never called, never wrote. The landlord let me stay for two months without rent, just out of pity, hoping that I would either go back to Forks or get myself on my feet. I failed at both."

Edward strokes my hair gently, letting me know in his own way that it's okay. That he gets it.

"I didn't have the heart to go back. My ego didn't let me. Dad had been so angry when I'd left with James, he said some stuff…" I shake my head, unable to continue. I can't. I can't talk about _this_.

"And your mom?" he asks, still soft as a whisper.

I swallow the lump in my throat. He's been so kind. He deserves to know this much at least. "My mom passed away of a heart attack when I was sixteen. Dad took it pretty hard and was never around. He drowned himself in his work. He wouldn't be home for days at a stretch. Which is why I got so attached to James…taking whatever attention I got… He made me forget, you know? When I was with him, everything in my world was right," I pause. "Well, for a couple of years, anyway."

"What did you do then, after he left?" he asks after a few minutes of silence.

I shrug. "Hunted for jobs. Got one, and then got fired pretty soon. Sold my stuff to stay fed till I had nothing left and was on the streets. If I got lucky, the Church down the road would have some food…maybe a bed at the shelter. If I didn't, I'd starve for days, wander the streets at night, sleep on park benches in broad daylight so no one would rape me…till one fine day I saw the '_Help Wanted_' board outside the club."

"Jesus, Bella, you were on the streets for two years…" he murmurs as he hugs me again.

"A little over a year, technically. I'm okay, now," I smile against his chest, even though I feel like crying my eyes out. "I'll always find a way to be okay."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

_Sometimes, we have to forget who we are to become what we should be. We have to be put in flames, to be melted and molded again. You were not a sinner before we met, and probably you shouldn't be, and probably I am selfish for making you one. But for once, you are happy. Ironically, you feel like a better man because you are living. You told me so. And nothing that makes you happy will ever be wrong in my book. Immoral? Sure. Wrong? Never._

–

We've been friends for six months now. No one knows about it, of course. He is a respectable man in society, and God forbid I taint that with my baggage. He shows up at my doorstep every Tuesday evening after work, under the pretense of meeting with a new client. Everyone who knows him thinks he is working on a super-secret deal for his company. I wonder how long he can keep this excuse up but whatever. I'm not complaining. Sometimes we watch a movie, or do Karaoke (he _loves_ it and I hate it, because he sounds so good and I sound like a croaking frog), or just order pizza and talk.

It's like high school allover again, except this time I actually get to hang out with the most popular guy.

Edward once told me that I can read him like an open book, but the truth is he can read me better. He can tell when I'm down in the dumps, so he goes out and gets ice cream for me. He can tell when I need a comforting shoulder, a pep talk, or just a hug. My budget was a little tight last month – business was not good at the club – so I got my cable cut. I don't even know when he noticed that, but he did, and despite all my protests, he gave me his money, not only for the cable, but enough to feed me for a month without earning a penny. That same week, he showed up at the club and paid for two hours with me.

I was angry. So, so angry. I hated being treated like a helpless, poor girl. I wasn't, dammit. He knew I would be stubborn about it, so he promised he would take that money whenever I could pay him back. It didn't stop me from crying, though. Those two hours that he 'bought' me for, I spent crying on his chest.

But today I get to pay him back. I've been working double shifts; waiting tables in the morning, dancing/whoring myself in the evening. And I finally have the money. He shows up with an ice cream tub and I joke about weight gain hampering my 'business', and all of it being Edward's fault. He doesn't even smile. I hand him the money and his mood worsens.

I sense that that ice cream is more for his sake than mine.

"Come on, I wanna show you something," I tell him, and without waiting for a reply, grab his hand and pull him up from the couch. He doesn't protest or ask questions as I make him wear his overcoat again while I put on a thick sweater. I take out a couple of blankets from the cupboard and take him to the rooftop. He looks surprised that it's so clean, compared to my messy apartment. I playfully smack his arm and tell him that it's because I spend a lot of time here.

I spread out the blankets and lie down, patting the space beside me and asking him to do the same. He puts the ice cream tub on his side (he's not going to part with it tonight, I just know it) and imitates my position. Facing the sky, we lie together in this _freezing_ weather, and watch the sunset. It's quite relaxing.

After a few minutes, I can't take the silence anymore. I shift and lie on my side, to face him.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

He lets out a long, foggy breath. "I've just had a bad few days." Then he turns his head and looks into my eyes. "I'm a lot better now. With you."

I raise my left hand and hesitate for a second before reaching up to his forehead and smoothing out the furrow between his brows.

He sighs and captures my hand, bringing it to his cold lips and placing a small kiss on my fingers.

"Talk to me," I whisper.

And he does. He tells me how regularly he's been arguing with his wife, Tanya. He tells me how they both almost hate each other, but can't stand to put their daughter, Sophie, through the ordeal of being raised by a single parent. They want a divorce, but they won't do it. They have to live together but they sleep on the opposite sides of the bed. He tries to give her flowers and she wonders what he wants from her. He gives her whatever she needs, and won't even get a thank you in return. He's just so fed up of living like a stranger in his own house, of tolerating Tanya as the trophy wife. He is fed up of his family nagging him to take a decision and leave her. He hates that Tanya won't even make time for their kid, but has time to get her eyebrows done. He wants her gone, but knows that if it came to a custody battle, she will cry her silly tears and take the light of his life away from him. Not only that, her father and Jasper own a major portion of the shares in his company, and if he divorced Tanya, that would hamper his business also. He hates that he got family and business entwined.

By the end of it all, he looks exhausted. He looks defeated. So I lean forward and give him a much needed hug. I tell him I'm sorry about his situation. I tell him if there was anything I could do to help, I would do it.

"You're already helping. When I'm with you, I'm myself. Free to feel what I feel. No more hiding," he tells me, and holds me tighter. We're so close that we're on just one blanket, so he reaches behind me and pulls the other blanket over us. I'm a little taken aback. This intimacy is as rare for me as it is for him. I sleep with a lot of men, but I don't lie down with them and bask in twilight. I don't embrace their body heat and allow myself the simple pleasure of a blanket over us in cold weather. I don't snuggle deeper into their chests while they place small kisses on the top of my head.

And I most definitely do not kiss.

So I am stirred to my bones when his kisses move down my face and his lips touch mine softly, questioningly. My only answer is to twine my fingers in his hair and pull him closer, to hold on to this rare feeling of being cherished for as long as I can. I don't care about the wedding ring on his finger. I don't care that it's so cold outside. I don't care that he's only seeking comfort and taking it where he finds it.

My selfish heart only knows that it has never felt so alive before. My soul knows that this feeling makes my toes curl and makes me feel my heartbeat everywhere. My skin is warm and content with his lips touching it, and I just never want to lose this moment.

The heat of the kiss changes slowly. From a soft, sensual kiss, it burns with passion and intensity in a matter of a few minutes. Our tongues mingle and gooseflesh springs up on every inch of my body. In my daze, I gasp when I feel his cold fingers moving down my face and neck, to my shoulder, under my shirt and under my bra strap.

"Inside," I beg against his lips and we only part for the five seconds it takes us to stand up. His lips are back on mine even before we've reached the staircase, and the blanket and ice cream are promptly forgotten. We somehow shut the door to the roof and make it down the stairs without falling face first. He wraps his arms around my waist, hugging me from behind, and places hot, wet kisses on my neck that drive me _wild._

Our shirts are off even before we've made it to the bedroom, and once there, we don't stop. If anything, our movements become more frantic than ever. At some point, he confesses he has no condom with him, and I shrug it off because what kind of a whore would I be if I wasn't on birth control anyway?

He gets upset that I call myself a whore again, but that is soon forgotten as the rest of our clothes come off.

I have never felt more complete than I do when we become one. What he makes me feel frightens me, but also gives me hope. It hurts me somehow but it's the sweetest torture.

When we lie together in the aftermath of crossing the point of no return – his weight over mine, his head on my chest and my legs around his waist – I expect guilt. From him, from myself. But there is none. There are no spoken promises, no life shattering statements…just no words. None are needed. We've found the balm to heal our souls.

––x––


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

_Sometimes, the flames are so bright that the light is blinding._

–

Edward doesn't show up on Tuesday. He _actually_ has a meeting to attend. He sends me a quick text so I don't wait for him for dinner. I end up ordering Chinese food for myself. I hate cooking – it reminds me of home, when I used to cook for my parents. My mom, Renée, was a horrible cook. Or it reminds me of James, and how I used to wait for him for dinner till one in the morning. The food would be too cold to eat so late, but I would eat anyway because it was _my _hard earned money and leave his untouched just to prove a point.

So, usually, it's Edward who does some magic with whatever groceries I have and makes sure I eat home cooked food at least once a week. Months of this routine with Edward, and I still haven't made myself capable of making anything but a bowl of soup, and tea or coffee without depressing myself.

–

It's Sunday today, and it's my day off. Saturdays exhaust me – Saturdays are always the best for business – so I spend most of Sundays in bed. Sometimes Maria stops by with a homemade dish for me, which I reheat and eat all day. But today her kid is sick, and she has gone to the doctor's. Bored and alone, I eat a bowl of cereal and watch TV, snuggled on my huge couch.

I feel something cold and wet touching my face and, irritated at the disturbance, I roll over to bury my face in the back of the couch. I hear a chuckle and finally my sleepy brain catches up with my senses and I gasp, alarmed. My adrenaline rush fades as quick as it had come when I realize it's just Edward, kneeling on the floor beside the couch, leaning over me to kiss allover my face.

"You scared me," I breathe, taking his hand and putting it over my heart so he can feel my pulse racing. His other hand strokes my hair as if I were a kid.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to surprise you, but you were asleep and I only have a couple of hours…" he says sheepishly. The sleep fog slowly lifting from my head, I realize he never shows up on a Sunday.

"It's a Sunday…"

"Sophie wanted to spend a day at Grandma's…so she is with my mom."

"And Tanya?"

He frowns. "The fuck I know. She left early in the morning. Must've gone to a spa or something."

"Oh."

"So anyway, I'm here," he smiles. "I'm here so we can celebrate your birthday."

I don't even know how he knows. "When did I tell you about that?"

"You didn't. I caught it off our old yearbook."

"Shut the front door! You still _have_ those?" Now I am grinning like a loon.

"It was buried in some cardboard box somewhere. I hunted for it."

He gets up off the floor and sits beside me in the tiny space. He then leans towards me and captures my lips with his, moving his hands to my face so his thumbs trace my cheekbones.

We don't make love that evening. We cut the cake he brought for me, and he gives me a necklace with a silver butterfly pendent.

"Because you're going to fly one day, and you're just as fragile," he murmurs, pulling me closer as I sit between his legs, my back flush to his front.

I scowl as I turn my face towards his. "I'm not fragile."

"You are to me. I know you're strong – you're actually the strongest person I know – but when I hold you like this," he squeezes me into his embrace, "all I want to do is protect you from the world. You're my butterfly."

I roll my eyes at his logic but the stupid grin doesn't leave my face till he leans down and kisses me.

We spend the whole two hours just sitting on the couch, snuggled and cuddling and kissing. It's enough. It's his way of showing that what we share is much deeper than an arrangement based on sex. It's something far more powerful. He consumes my thoughts in a way I never thought would happen. I worry when he doesn't call all week. I worry when the bags under his eyes become more prominent than usual. He takes care of me and makes me feel treasured. He suggests almost every time that I should quit what I do. That he could pay for my education, under some pretense or the other. That maybe he could take a loan on my behalf – no one would question him. But I can't take advantage of him.

Hurt flickers across his face when I refuse – yet again – but he quickly covers it up with a smile and a kiss on my forehead. I can't stop hurting him, but maybe I can say something to make it better…or worse, depending on how he takes it. I turn around in his arms, straddle his lap, and touch his precious face.

He closes his eyes, leans into my hands and sighs as if my touch has brought him the greatest comfort.

"Edward?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"I think I love you."

He looks up, smiles at me, and I lean into him and put my head on his shoulder, just _being_. I don't expect a reply. I don't want one. I'm content. I'm happy. For once in my life, I'm just happy. He has brought so much light into my life that I'm blinded by all the happiness coursing through my veins.

"Bella?"

"Hmm?"

"What did you wish for when you blew the candles?" I can hear his smile.

I think for a moment and finally whisper, "Light."

"Bella?"

"Hmm?"

"I think I love you, too."

––x––


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

_Sometimes, the flames lick and torture. The embers burn my skin down to my bones._

–

His face is buried in my neck as he thrusts. Slow. Torturously slow. His teeth leave little nibbles on my neck. The gesture is so primal that I almost come undone. I bring my hands over his chest and up to his neck, so I can grab his hair and tug, letting him know how much I need this. I turn to face him and kiss his cheek. It's such a simple gesture, that he smiles. He smiles and brings his lips to mine, not once breaking the rhythm our bodies have set. We break when we can't breathe anymore, and, panting with need, I do to him what he was doing to me. I suck the bead of sweat off his neck, and nip at his skin.

It's like an instinct. He moves his head away as if _I've_ burned _him_. He doesn't stop his movement, but I can see that I bothered him to the point of distraction. He gives me a small, apologetic smile and moves to kiss me again. I try not to let it get to me – maybe I am overthinking things. But it's confirmed when I try to kiss his neck again and he moves his hands from either side of my shoulders, where they were supporting his body weight, and strokes my cheeks with his thumbs.

His weight on top of me is stifling; as are his words. "Don't mark me," he whispers.

"Why?"

"You know why," he says, and as if to highlight his point, I see his wedding ring gleam from the light of the night lamp.

I give a small, bitter smile. "So you can mark me as yours, but I can't mark you mine. Because you aren't."

My traitorous, _traitorous_ heart wants it all sometimes. His love is like a drug. The more he gives, the more I crave, and at the end of it is a temporary satisfaction. We usually go around in circles, and end up where we started – sated but wanting, at the same time. Addicted to what we have.

Earlier today, he was talking about Sophie – his little princess – taking part in some fancy dress competition at her pre–school, and for once Tanya is being so attentive to her, and how happy it makes him. Did he not even think how insecure that would make _me_? That I would never have his child, never bring him – or any man, or myself – that happiness? Because I'm almost thirty two and this biological clock shit sucks.

He sighs, my irritation making _him_ annoyed. "Can we not talk about this now? Please?" His eyes close again and his forehead rests against mine.

Fine, then. He can have it his way. I grab him and urge him to go faster, harder, deeper, but I don't feel any of it. I am thinking far too much about that wedding ring that I'll never wear.

"Bella?" he says breathlessly, trying to bring me back to the moment. I pull on his hair, and there is nothing gentle about it. I scrape my nails across his back, digging them into his skin, and there is _nothing_ loving about it. If I'm hurting, so must he. He moves faster when he catches on. He senses my sadness, my anger, and suddenly his expression hardens. I have ruined the moment and I know it. He doesn't like to be reminded that what we do is wrong – at least in the eyes of the society. And now I feel his anger in his punishing rhythm. I feel his frustration in how the fingers of his right hand dig against my waist.

He is not angry at me. I am not angry at him. We just are.

He takes and takes and I willingly give. He hurts and I hurt and we hurt _ourselves_ emotionally, instead of hurting each other physically.

"Let go, Bella."

"I can't."

"Bella, please. Just don't."

I don't reply. Don't what? Don't ruin it further? Don't think? Don't feel? Don't go numb? _Am_ I numb?

"Stop thinking so much," he pleads, but I will have none of it.

I touch him everywhere, frantically, because he won't stop trying and will eventually exhaust himself. Already his breathing is staccato. But I can't let go. Not tonight. I hurt too much but won't let _him_ suffer for it. I drag my nails across his back again, this time a lot gentler, like I know he goes wild to. I take his bottom lip between mine and kiss him soundly. I meet him thrust for thrust till I break his resolve.

"_You_ let go, Edward," I whisper in his ear, and he does. He gives in with a strangled groan, breathless and angry that I made _him_ come.

"Why did you do that?" he growls and punches the pillow on the right side of my face.

I don't have the strength for this, nor the inclination of arguing it out with him, so I just move myself from under him and he lets me. Then I turn myself away from him and leave him to his harsh breathing. I don't think I can look at him without breaking down and my eyes sting anyway. Minutes pass in this manner – my silence and his breaths – and I breathe deeply, soundlessly, pretending to be asleep. I know he is awake. He hardly sleeps here. I hear him move before I feel the mattress shift. His arm snares around my waist and he pulls me to him, my back taking warmth from his chest.

"I'm so sorry, baby. You know I am," he whispers. He sounds devastated. So I cry. I don't turn around. I try to hide my tears from him, but instinct wins out and I end up sniffling. He holds me tighter but leans up on his elbow so he can kiss my face.

"Please don't cry, baby. Please, please, please…"

And thus we spend our assigned four hours of Tuesday evening – spooning in my bed, upset and frustrated, and him holding me as I cry.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

_You breathe upon my skin and leave your imprint. My clothes smell of you. My pillow smells of you. My _soul_ smells of you._

–

I can't breathe. My head spins and I've thrown up twice already, ever since returning from the club. This just feels so wrong. My skin is too sensitive as I wash myself in the shower. My heartbeat is thudding in my ears. It's so loud, I wonder if it echoes in the confines of this bathroom but the echo is being drowned out by the sound of the shower spray. God knows it's echoing inside me, hurting my head with every beat.

Make it stop, make it stop…

I take the scrubber off the shelf and scrub my arms furiously. _He_ – I don't know his name, or don't remember it, and don't want to – ran his hands allover my arms. Over and over and over. I hated his touch. I hated his breath on my neck. He smelled of too much alcohol. He smelled like filth and vomit. And now _I _smell like _him_ so I take the body–wash and wash myself for the second time. Or is it the third?

My head pounds, goddammit.

His teeth. His teeth broke my skin. I can feel my shoulder throbbing. I can feel the mark if I touch it…the slight swelling of the area. I scrub it. Get it off, get it off, please let this thing come off.

It doesn't. I scrub myself harder. I try to breathe deeply, but the in and out of air is shallow and I'm gasping. I want to breathe properly. I don't know what's happening to me. Is this how my mom felt just before she died? Your whole body failing, your limbs wanting you to just give up and sink to the floor, your blood reminding you of all the wrongs you did.

Because it was wrong. So wrong. Tonight was all wrong. No encounter has ever made me feel so weak and broken. I'm falling to pieces. I gasp and gasp and gasp and sink to the floor…

"Bella!"

Someone's calling my name…I know this voice…

"Bella, baby, open the door."

My mind is playing tricks. It's one in the morning – or two – I don't remember – it's just really fucking late. And it's a Saturday night. Technically Sunday morning. I don't care.

But he can't be here right now. He can't be here tonight. It's not a Tuesday. I know _that._

"Edward," I cry anyway.

"I'm here, sweetheart, just open the door." His voice sounds frantic to me. Why is he so desperate? Why is my mind conjuring his panicked voice? Is he alright? Did something happen?

There's a loud thud. Really, really loud. I jump and almost shriek in fear. Another loud noise. And again. And yet again. I cover my ears and close my eyes. I rock back and forth, curled up upon myself, under the shower spray.

I hear the noise one more time before something metallic clangs to the marble floor. I am about to scream again when the shower curtain is moved but my scream gets caught in my throat when he bends down, fully clothed, and I see my Angel's face.

"Edward…Edward…" I try. I try really fucking hard to explain to him what happened but no words will form.

"Shh," he soothes and sits beside me on the bathroom floor, under the shower spray. At once he wraps his arms around me, and I try to breathe his scent. But the more I breathe, the more I choke. And then I can't stop crying. Loud, strangled sobs escape my throat and I have no idea what is going on. I just want this insanity to stop. He's saying something in my ear. I need to focus. I need to focus on his voice and everything will be alright again.

"Shit, baby, you're bleeding," he says, sounding so pained that I sob again.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"How did you…?" I ask him. How did he get here? How did he know I needed him? Does he know what happened? I want to ask so much but right now I just want to lose myself in him and not think at all.

"Maria called me an hour or so ago," he explains, speaking softly in my ear, correctly guessing my question. "She said you looked out of it and wouldn't speak coherently when you left. You refused to wait till Maria could drop you home. She had to put you in a cab hired by the club to drop off people who are too drunk."

His voice is soothing. I relax minutely. I am not hyperventilating anymore. I'm okay. I'll be okay. He's here and I'll be okay.

"Bella, are you listening to me?"

I nod.

"Did you do drugs, Bella?"

I shake my head. I always stay away from drugs. Being a whore is bad enough; I don't need to be a crack whore on top of it. He is holding my wrist in his hand.

"Your pulse is too fast, baby. Let me take you to a doctor."

"No, no, please, Edward, I'm fine. No, no doctors." I'm shaking my head too fast and the room is spinning, so I cling to him again.

"Make it go away, Edward," I sob.

He moves his hands to my face and wipes my tears, even though the shower is running so it doesn't matter. "Make what go away?" he asks me tenderly, as if I were a child, asking someone to dispel my nightmare.

"His scent. His face. His teeth. Just get him off of me."

"Oh, baby, I am so sorry," he sounds like he is choking too. He pulls me back to him and I suddenly remember.

"He gave me my drink. I don't usually drink like this but I did tonight. He put something in it, Edward. I know he did. Everything's falling apart since then."

"We should get you checked –"

"No, and he – his hands – he was too strong. He was too close. I felt too much. I don't feel so much. I don't want to feel it anymore," I plead with him, as if he can make it all okay just by his words.

"Okay," he says soothingly. "It will stop. Just breathe with me, alright?"

He brings my head back to his chest and urges me to match my breathing with his. I try and it works. He breathes deeply and I breathe with him. When I am a bit calm, he slowly pulls us off the ground, and I tug at his t–shirt.

"Take it off," I tell him, and he complies.

He takes off his soaked clothes and throws them aside. I belatedly notice that he isn't wearing a jacket, so he must have removed it before he decided to break my bathroom door. He then stands under the spray, with my face buried in his shoulder. I finally feel like I've come home. Like I won't fall apart anymore. He strokes my hair rhythmically and it is so soothing that I almost fall asleep right there. He feels the tension leaving my body and kisses my hair. I place a kiss on his pecs in return and just let him hold me till we run out of hot water.

Once he closes the shower, he takes a large towel from the shelf and wraps me in it, and then takes another to wrap around his waist. He asks me to go sit on the bed and I do so, hearing him rummage in the cabinet for something. He comes back out with a first aid kit in his hand and it's then that I notice what he meant about me bleeding. I scrubbed my arms too hard. I have angry red skin on both my arms – some of it bleeds – and he gives me a sad smile as he notices the same. He carefully cleans the cuts, and wraps gauze around them, while I just sit there like an imbecile, drowning in shame and guilt. He kisses the bite-mark on my shoulder and my tears start falling. I wonder how I have any left since I've already cried so much.

"I'm sorry," I say, just like I did in the shower. Because I am. How could I be so stupid to take a drink from a man like that? How could I just do what I did tonight? _What _am I doing with my life?

He kisses my forehead once he is done putting a bandage over the mark as well. "It wasn't your fault," he repeats himself as well. "Do you feel any better?"

I nod and look down. He puts a hand under my chin and makes me look at him, brushing my tears with his other hand.

"No more," he says. "You are not doing this anymore and that's that. I've had enough of your pride and ego and self–destruction."

"It wasn't self–destruction," I mumble.

"From where I see it, you've spent almost fifteen years of your life putting your dreams on the backburner for this shell of a life. This is the last straw, Bella. Where did your courage go? Are you that big a coward now?"

"Don't call me that!" I say fiercely.

He leans forward and whispers against my lips. "Prove me wrong. Don't go this 'job' of yours anymore. Abandon this lifestyle. Don't take any favors from me if you don't want to but go out and find a decent job."

"I have no qualifications, Edward, you know –"

"Bullshit. You are a high school graduate, and there are plenty of jobs if you just look. So just _look_, Bella. Try. Try for me."

"You don't understand," I shake my head as more tears spill.

"You're right. I don't. I don't understand why you would throw your life away like this." He strokes my hair again. "I love you, Bella. I love you enough to leave my house at midnight, without giving anyone any explanations, and come running to you because I know you need me. But seeing you like this hurts me too much. Won't you do just this for me? Won't you try?"

I sniffle and bury my head in my hands. He takes me in his arms again as we lie down, and hums a melody to put me to sleep. In the two years that I've known him, it's the first time he stays the night. His love makes me forget.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter**** 8**

* * *

_You can shatter my heart into tiny pieces, and you're the only one who can put it together again and cherish it like a priceless gift. Because in breaking my heart, you break yours too. We sin. We're both sinners. You sin against your wife and your kid; I sin against wanting to be your wife and bearing your child. We sin against our souls, just to appease our hearts._

–

It's been three weeks after that horrible incident, and I haven't sold my body ever since. Last week, I quit my job as a pole dancer as well. Ironically enough, I am starting out as a babysitter for a friend of Maria's. I look after a three year old girl named Kathleen, who is actually a devil in disguise, and my God she makes me work for my money. I've been babysitting her for six hours each day since the past week for a tiny sum, and I am already tired. Edward is all too pleased, though. He thinks it's endearing that I get to watch a kid. It stabs me a little whenever he says so, but I'll never tell him that, because that will just make him feel worse.

Today I have a decent amount of cash. I just withdrew a little money from the account I keep my college fund in (it's so little, it's almost a joke), and I've decided to go grocery shopping. Like, the real deal. Not some milk here and bread there. I actually have a list. Edward helped me write it last Tuesday, and since Sunday is the only day off from babysitting as well, here I am.

I don't shop in such large stores often, so I am constantly bothering one employee or the other to know _where_ stuff is. There are way too many aisles and way too many people here. It's sort of stifling. I'm so used to being alone.

I am finally on the aisle for toys for kids. If I get a little gift for Kathleen, maybe she won't be too antagonistic towards me and stop throwing her milk on my clothes. Honestly, kids these days…

I am choosing between the various toys that I can afford, when I hear a small girl whining.

"Mom, pleeeeeease can I get that? Please, please, please?" She pulls on her mother's dress and even stomps her tiny foot. It makes me grin. I am waiting to see what the mother does, but she just brushes the kid off, telling her she's on the phone with someone very important.

"But, moooooom!"

"I said no, Sophie. Let mom talk!" the woman says in a scolding tone, and my heart sinks. Sophie. _Sophie_. I look at the little girl, no older than six, dressed in jeans and t–shirt, with a cap holding her ponytail, and a pout on her tiny face. I look at the mother, impeccably dressed in a beige dress, nails freshly manicured, strawberry blonde hair pulled up and secured by a hair tie, looking like the picture of perfection that only belongs on a magazine cover. And I know. I just _know_.

He confirms it. Out of nowhere, Edward reaches out, his clothes matching that of Sophie, and lifts her into his arms. She squeals and giggles and the onlookers smile as they pass by. I can't make myself react. I can't even move.

"Let Mommy do whatever she is doing. You come to me, okay?" She nods against his shoulder. "What do you want, Princess?" he asks her as he kisses her cheek.

"I want that," she says with a smile, pointing towards the toys next to me. When Edward looks this way, it's easy to see that he is just as shocked as I am. But then he carefully composes his face into a blank mask, plasters a smile and comes my way with Sophie still in his arms.

"Hey," he quietly says to me. I can't reply because my mouth is suddenly parched. I feel like my insides are constricting, making it hard to breathe. Like I want to crawl out of my skin. Not an inch of my body is willing to cooperate. My muscles are frozen. I just worriedly glance at Sophie and Edward shrugs.

"Hey, Princess?"

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Say hello to my friend."

"Who is that?" she whispers in his ear, but it's loud enough that I can hear it.

"That lovely lady is Miss Bella," he grins at her, and the adoration in his eyes for his daughter is so clear that I feel an intense pang of longing. I want to feel this – what he feels. I want to look at a kid this way. I want _him_ to look at my kid – our kid – this way. And the possibility of that is next to none.

Sophie smiles and says a timid 'Hi' to me and I mumble a 'Hi' in response, my thoughts filled with crushing fantasies.

"Your butterfly is so pretty," she whispers in awe as she points to my necklace and when I look at her radiant smile, I see Edward in her face. I see Edward in that little dimple she gets on her chin. I see Edward in her green eyes.

"You like it?" I ask, and she nods. So I tuck my grocery list somewhere between all the stuff in my cart, push my hair back and unclasp the chain from around my neck. Then I take Sophie's arm gently and put it round and round her wrist like a bracelet, and clasp it shut again. "It's yours, Butterfly."

"Bella, you don't –" Edward starts but I don't let him finish. I leave my filled cart right there and, thankful that I at least have my wallet in my jacket pocket, make a run for it before my tears spill. I don't care about the concerned and mildly amused looks that people give me. I just run out of there and take the first bus to my house.

Once there, I bury my head in a pillow and sob out all my sadness and desperate longing for the impossible.


	10. Chapter 9

**This bit is **_**slightly **_**different from what I had in the contest. JSYK.**

**And I made a pretty amateurish banner. fbcdn - sphotos - a . akamaihd hphotos - ak - ash3 / 524207 _ 410014262382305 _ 1802970525 _ n . jpg (just remove the spaces)**

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**Chapter 9**

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_You tell me my tears are your weakness and that you live for my smiles. You tell me that life is never easy, and all we can do is try. You tell me what I am to you, and sometimes it's so hard to believe that what you say is true. Because all my life, I never meant so much to anyone. I never felt worthy. I never felt cherished. I never felt the warmth that you make me feel. And here I am, trying – always trying – to be worthy of you._

_And here we are now, losing ourselves to find each other in a different way._

–

He calls me over and over. I'm taking a shower on Sunday night and the phone rings. I'm still in bed on Monday morning and the phone rings. I am putting on my jeans in the afternoon and the phone rings. I have just finally put Kathleen to sleep and the phone rings. She wakes up and throws a tantrum because she is so cranky.

The phone just rings and rings and rings for two days and I don't pick up even once. I can't. I don't even know what to say to him. If I hear his voice, my heart will melt. I can't have that. I need to be strong as iron. I don't want to be crushed. I just need to get my shit together till he gets here on Tuesday. I need to face the facts and stop living in daydreams.

He leaves voice messages on my phone, but in all the messages I just hear a frustrated sigh before the line goes dead. He leaves texts, ranging from '_Are you ok?_' to '_Goddammit, just pick up the phone before I lose my mind!_' to _'I am sorry. I don't know what for, but sorry'_ to _'Just send me one reply so I know you're alright_._'_

It's not about just one reply. Just one reply would break my resolve and then I will need his reassurance and I will need his voice. I am a horrible person, but right now I just want to be with my silence. Silence lets me think. I don't switch off the phone, though. Stubborn as I am, I still read his words. I don't know why. I probably read his texts a hundred times.

When he finally shows up, he is clearly not happy. He runs his hand through his hair and asks me why I haven't answered or returned his calls and texts, and I don't have an answer. He asks me why I ran away, and I don't have an answer. We soon lose ourselves in kissing – angry making out is so much better than just being angry – and before we know it, we are a panting, sweating mess, but decidedly far more relaxed than we have been since Sunday.

He hovers over me and kisses the corner of my mouth.

"Smile for me?"

"What?"

"You haven't smiled at all tonight."

"And?"

"The amount of times you smile is directly proportional to how happy I feel."

I scoff. "You're full of it."

"I'm serious." He kisses my cheek and makes me look at him. "I actually count your smiles. Last Tuesday you smiled twenty seven times. A week before that it was fourteen. On your birthday, I lost count because you pretty much smiled all night and were so happy. But tonight? None."

I'm silent. His explanation stings worse.

"What can I do?" he asks softly.

I look at him in confusion.

"Tell me what I can do to make you smile."

"I'm fine, Edward. Just go to sleep for a while. Or you should be going home. Sophie needs you. Tanya must be wondering where –"

"Stop. _Stop_. I'm not going anywhere till you smile." His hand unconsciously makes patterns on my stomach, as if he's going to tickle me.

I sigh exasperatedly. "Will you drop it, please?"

"Just tell me what to do. What do you need?"

"What do I need?"

He nods. Seriously. I'm silent. He waits and waits.

Finally, I look into his kind eyes. "I need you."

"You have me, baby."

"Do I?"

He sits up some on his right elbow, and his left hand stops its movement and comes to rest on my cheek.

"Heart, body and soul, I'm yours." His eyes are fierce.

"Not in the eyes of everyone else."

He closes his eyes and touches his nose to mine. "Fuck everyone else."

I smile sadly. "I already did."

His eyes open as he pulls away from my face. His nostrils flare and he glares at me. His jaw is so tight. "You know that's not what I meant," he grits out.

And then the dam breaks. I can't hold back. I can't even look at his face anymore. I talk to his chest, his heart.

"I know you didn't mean it like that, but what else do I say? I can't smile. I don't want to. You think my heart is made of stone? You think you can stand in the middle of a grocery store and introduce your daughter to me and call me 'that lovely lady' and it doesn't hurt? Well, it hurts. It just _hurts_, Edward.

"It hurts that you go home to your wife and your kid and your white picket fence, and then expect me to smile because I couldn't _possibly_ want a white picket fence, your wedding ring and two point five kids of my own. Whores don't want any of that, do they?"

"You're _not_ a –"

"I am! I have been for years. And with the way things are going, I won't be surprised if I become one again. You can't change things overnight, Edward. You think I don't have a heart that bleeds every damn morning, and more so on Tuesday nights when I reach to your side of the bed and my hand touches cold sheets? That I don't have tears that burn my soul when I look at your picture perfect family and realize that I'll always be your dirty little secret? That I don't have emotions that threatened to choke me when a guy would be fucking me from behind and all I would see was your face behind my eyelids? When I would just pray for it to be over soon. I don't even feel whole, Edward. I don't. My heart is in tiny pieces and I let you trample allover them and break them further because you're the only thing that makes me _feel_ anymore. So no, Edward, I don't have you even when I do; I will never have you or be a part of your life. I will never love another man and will die homeless and alone, with twenty cats surrounding me, so excuse me for not fucking _smiling_ about it."

When I look back up, I see tears streaming down his face, and so help me, I want to take back every word I just said. I have never, _ever_ seen him cry, and in an instant his tears become my torture. My anger, my frustration melt like snowflakes in hell and all my passion turns into helpless pleading.

"Don't," I beg him. I put a hand on his cheek and wipe the tears but they are never ending.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and I know he isn't apologizing for the tears. I shake my head, pull him closer and kiss his tears away. He should never cry. Never, never ever.

I hold him to me and he buries his face in my neck, apologizing over and over. I hate myself for causing him so much pain. "Please don't cry, Edward. _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have said all that."

He shakes his head against my shoulder. "I'm yours. We'll work this out, I promise you. You won't be alone. You're not my _dirty_ little secret; you are the love of my life."

He lifts his head and his red–rimmed eyes meet mine. "I love you, Bella. I'll make you happy again, I promise."

He kisses me then – soft and sweet and full of hope. My lips against his aren't as soft – they desperately cling to that hope.

"I wanna show you something," I say before I end up crying, and wriggle myself from under him to open my bedside drawer. I take out the piece of paper that says more than I ever could to him, and hand it to him without a word.

He looks at it curiously, and shifts us so we're both lying on our sides, facing each other. Our legs entwined, he puts an arm under my shoulders while I snuggle against him. He quietly reads the words, his face slowly losing all the pain and reflecting his happiness, his love.

When he is finally done, he has tears in his eyes again. He asks me for a pen and asks me to face the other way. He then rests the paper on my back and scribbles on it, the movement tickling my shoulder and making me giggle. When I turn back around, he turns the paper around and I smile at his words. It's silly, it's high–schoolish, and it's crazy, but that's what our love is like.

"This is ours," he says reverently and holds the paper between our chests.

"I want to burn it."

He raises a brow. "Burn it?"

I nod. "Because it will be consumed by the light and the heat that you are to me, and it will be ours forever. It's not meant for anyone else."

I expect him to laugh at me. He looks into my eyes for a long moment and kisses me instead. "Whatever you want."

We go to the terrace, with bed–sheets wrapped around our naked bodies, and I carry the matches from the kitchen with me.

I hand it to him while I hold the paper. "You light it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

He lights up the match and brings it close to his face for a moment, the flame reflected back in both his eyes and mine. Then he brings it to the paper and sets a corner on fire.

I throw the burning paper away from us. The flames lick away quickly…every word turns to ash. This is our story – in these ashes at our feet. In these words that will never be heard by anyone else but us. We burn it. We burn our story to the ground because in these unspoken words is immortality. It does not matter if no one else sees them, reads them, breathes them. We've seen it, read it, breathed it. This piece of paper is a part of our light now. The words '_I love you_ _more, Butterfly_' written in his elegant script are the last to be consumed in this light. _He_ is the light. He is life.

Flames consume our story, so we can take a new page and begin another.

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**End of Part 1. Thank you for all the reviews and pimping. See you next weekend.**

**I am on twitter - RoseMasenCullen :)**


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: My phone – and consequently wifi – was dead because of thunderstorms. Sigh. The awesome story cover image is thanks to FemmeCullen :)**

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_Some people say turning a new page in life is quite like changing your diet. You give it your best shot, you restrain yourself from indulging in all things harmful, but eventually you get tired of it and fall back into old patterns. Because something more tempting always haunts. Something more glorious always hovers, calling you in._

_And even though I am turning a new page (literally – I just bought and am writing in a new journal), I am finding that some people think that way for a reason._

–

"You need to take a vacation."

"I'm fine."

"You look tired as hell."

"Really, I'm fine."

"Edward, you look like you haven't slept in days."

He leans in for a quick peck. "Just last night."

"Must have been some party."

He shrugs and looks away. "It was okay."

I stand on my tiptoes and curl my fingers in his hair. "Did you miss me?"

He smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes, and leans till his forehead is on my shoulder. "Of course."

I speak into his ear. "I bought you a birthday present."

"You didn't have to."

I trace down his arm, take his hand and pull him towards the bedroom. "Hey, I didn't even get to celebrate your birthday. At least let me give you a gift."

He raises his eyebrows suggestively. "I can think of a nice gift that involves going into the bedroom."

I roll my eyes. "Not _that_ gift, Pervert."

"I could convince you."

I grin. "You wouldn't have to." I kiss him. "But it's something else."

I switch on the light when we are inside the room, and walk to the closet to take out the wrapped gift. It's pretty small. It's actually pretty lame, too. It's not like I can give him anything he doesn't already have.

He takes it from me and unwraps it slowly.

"It's lame, I know. I didn't know what else to get you. I mean, you already have it all."

"Um…" He reads the print carefully. "These are plane tickets. You totally set me up with that 'you need a vacation' thing!"

"I know. And I meant it too. You _need_ a vacation. You work too hard. And this is _one_ ticket to the most clichéd weekend getaway ever."

"Bella, this must have been really expensive."

I should be a little offended, but I'm not. He's just stating facts. I pinch his cheek playfully. "Did no one ever tell you never to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

"Shit, I didn't mean it like that."

"You know…you spend half your time explaining yourself. Lighten up." I flick the papers. "This is how you lighten up."

"By going to Vegas by myself?"

"Here is where I confess that two tickets were _slightly _out of the budget." _They wouldn't have been if I was still stripping at the club, though…_but I stop that thought short. It's not the first instance I've wished that I was still doing my old job, and I have a feeling it won't be the last. But I need to stay strong right now. Even if the idea of a rich babysitter is laughable.

He steps in closer and wraps his arms around my waist. He kisses my hair. "I'll tell you what, though…"

"Hmm?"

"I'll go to Vegas the day you decide to come with me."

I push him away. "Very funny."

He pulls me back. "Thank you for this, Bella. Truly."

I smile. "You're welcome. I also have one more surprise."

He kisses the side of my face. "Mm–hmm?"

"I cooked your favorite dinner."

He leans back to look at me. "Really?"

"Yeah. Remember you once mentioned that you love chicken alfredo with noodles?"

"That was a long time ago."

"I have a good memory. Come on, let's eat before it gets cold."

But he resists when I try to lead him towards the kitchen. "What?"

He crushes me to him without a word, burying his face in my neck and holding me so tight that my ribs hurt.

"Edward?"

"I love you."

I kiss his hair. "I love you too."

We stand like this for a couple of minutes. When he pulls back, his eyes are tight with worry.

"What's wrong?"

He just shakes his head.

"You look sad, Edward."

"I am. Just a little."

"Why?" I whisper.

"Can we eat first?"

"You're kind of scaring me."

All of a sudden he kisses me, soft and thorough, but taking me by surprise. I kiss him back, all the while wondering what I did wrong. I mean, I must've done _something_ wrong.

And just like that, I'm not hungry anymore. My stomach is full of knots.

"Edward," I gasp as I pull away, "I'm not going to be able to eat till you tell me what's bothering you. So just say it."

He sighs and leans his forehead to mine. "I'm sorry."

"For _what_?"

His eyes shut tightly, as if blocking out the world – or just me – he blurts out, "I had sex with Tanya."

If I was breathless by his kiss, it's nothing compared to how I feel now. "Oh," is my brilliant reply, as I try to push down whatever it is that is choking me.

He rushes to explain – his words are barely decipherable. "Look, it wasn't planned or anything. She was just drunk and wept like a baby after I refused her. Because I did refuse her but she just wouldn't quit it and I fucking _knew_ I shouldn't have let her drink so much at the party. Usually, putting Sophie to sleep is my excuse to stay away from Tanya till she's asleep, but last night Sophie was with Tanya's parents and just…I don't know. It all happened so desperately and just…I'm sorry."

I lick my dry lips and think of what to say to him. I wonder if I should even blame him for it. I wonder why it hurts as much as it does. But most of all, the sincerity in his eyes is disarming. He genuinely is sorry, which just breaks down all the walls I was trying to build up between us by letting the anger and sadness get to me.

And this silence between us has only been for a minute.

"Please say something," he begs.

I shrug. "Was it good?"

"Bella."

"No, just think about it. Did you at least enjoy? Because I hope you did. All of this," I wave a hand between us, "wouldn't have been worth it otherwise."

He just hugs me again. "You have every right to be so bitter. I'm sorry. Really."

I loosen his arms from around me and take his hands in mine, before reaching up to give him a small kiss. "You don't have to be sorry. You don't need my permission to fuck your wife."

He groans. "Don't say it like that."

I raise a brow. "I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"Bella –" I put a hand on his mouth to stop his words.

"For your sake, I hope it was good. Now please just eat the dinner I spent over an hour preparing."

With that, I stalk out of the room and he silently follows me. The atmosphere between us is tense and thick with moroseness. While I set the table, he steps into the kitchen and sits up on the counter, his heavy sigh the only sound besides the clatter of cutlery.

"I was going to talk to her about ending the marriage."

I almost drop the only fine glass plates I have. "What?"

He's still looking at the floor. "It's true. I had the whole speech laid out in my head about how we were two most incompatible beings on the planet and how we never should have gotten married in the first place. But last night just…spiraled things out of control."

I put the plates down on the counter beside him and face him. He takes my arm and pulls me till I'm standing between his legs. "I need you to believe that, Bella. If I could undo last night, I would. If I could even find an explanation for why it happened, I…it was just so confusing and…I don't even _like_ her anymore, Bella, you know that and I –"

"Shh."

I need to fix this. I don't know why I am the one comforting him when really I am hurting, but I just can't stand to see him in such pain. He looks worse than I feel.

I put a hand on his neck and stroke the hair on his nape. He stays put as I stand on tiptoes to give him a kiss. He doesn't even kiss me back.

"You're forgiven," I tell him.

He looks up and under the bright light of the kitchen I notice the laugh lines on his face. I wish I could make him laugh. I hate his sadness more than I hate mine.

"Look, Edward," I say when he doesn't respond. "It hurts. I'm not going to deny that. But I also understand that your world and my world are still very irreconcilable."

"They're not."

"Yes, they are. You're you – financier extraordinaire and whatever it is that you do. I'm an ex–prostitute and a babysitter. You have a life that is somewhat only a part of my wildest dreams. I'm not scared to admit that. Whether you want to or decide to divorce Tanya or not…we're still going to be worlds apart for a long while. I know you love me and I love you, but love doesn't fill your plates with food and love doesn't keep families together. It never has."

"So what are you saying?"

"That whatever happened last night isn't the first disappointment I've had to face and it won't be the last. Hell, you could have never told me and I would have never known. But you did. You did. That makes me have faith in you. But at the same time, I'm not a naïve girl with dreams of rainbows and unicorns. If tomorrow you do decide to keep up the appearances with Tanya and whatever, for the sake of your business, your daughter…then I would understand. It doesn't mean I won't hurt, but I'll understand."

He shakes his head. "I'm kind of offended that you think so little of me."

"I'm just being practical."

"You're being cynical. There's a difference."

I sigh. "This is a long–winded and pointless conversation. Let's just eat."

"Not until you believe me."

"I said I believe you."

"You _said_, but you don't. You say you have faith in me, but the very next second you imply that I'm some bastard who will _keep up the appearances _just because I am too chicken to go after what I want."

"I didn't say that."

"You meant it. How easily you discarded every sentiment, everything between us and called it practicality."

I huff. "People tend to do that when they are hurt."

Suddenly, he gives me a small, sad smile, jumps down from the counter and hugs me again. "There. At least you acknowledged that you are hurt."

I just hold him tighter.

"I never meant to hurt you, Bella."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I love you." He kisses my hair – "You" – my cheek – "you" – and then my lips – "and only you. Just give me a little time."

And even though we are back to square one, I could give him all my life if he asked. "I love you, too."


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

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**EPOV**

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Staring outside the window and watching the raindrops fall, it's hard to believe that summer is almost gone. Days have blurred into nights and nights into days – a cycle which has somehow taken away the edge of the sword hanging over everything in my life. The past ten days have passed in constant activity. I had to go on a business trip for a week, a couple of days after my birthday – something I joked about when I called Bella to let her know. _See, there's my vacation,_ I told her. She laughed and said I would just end up bringing back more stress than letting go of some.

She was right. She always is. She knows me better than I know myself and sometimes, looking into her eyes is like finding the darkest depths of my soul.

I see a man filled with guilt. I see a man who never did learn to take a hold of life and fight back the odds. I see a man putting a woman through so much sadness, just so he can appease another woman who is nothing but an obligation now.

I sigh as I watch Sophie step down the porch and into the rain. She holds out her arms and catches raindrops in her hands. Tanya shouts from a distance at her – _you'll catch the flu, Sophie, get back in! Don't ruin your clothes, Sophie, it's raining!_ – and I light up the cigarette that I've been trying very hard to resist. I've only been smoking for a couple of months, and miraculously enough, nobody has noticed. Not even Bella. I take a long drag and the burn in my chest is distracting enough to give me some seconds of peace, but it doesn't last long.

"But mom, I wanna play! Look!" Sophie's voice filters even through the noise of this rain against the rooftop, and when I look down at the garden, she takes off her shoes and jumps barefoot into a puddle, shrieking with happiness as the muddy water stains her denim shorts, while Tanya stands under an umbrella, holding a towel for Sophie, wearing a scowl on her flawless face and flip–flops on her feet. I don't think she has ever worn those before.

Even like this, Tanya looks perfect. Lost in her own head, eyes emotionless, she could well be an exquisite painting. Too perfect. If I try hard enough, I can look right past everything she lacks as a person – as a mother – and I still see a lost girl, in a world she doesn't belong to. She's cold and detached. It's not like she doesn't _try_ to belong – she just doesn't fit in here. She's otherworldly. I could never find warmth in her eyes – not even for our daughter. I could never really _reach_ her.

She's not flawed like Bella. Bella isn't perfect. Bella is real. Bella is imperfection and tears and freckles on the face. Bella is a tiny scar on her eyebrow and chapped lips. Bella is tired eyes but worried about the bags under mine. Bella is freaking out over a gray hair on her head, but strength when she was homeless. Bella, who touches me like I mean something. Bella, who laughs with her eyes and cries with her soul. Bella, who gives me a sense of being. Bella, who grounds me in the moment and conveys so much by just a kiss, than she does by so many words, but who burned her words to make them last forever.

Bella, who would probably be jumping barefoot in puddles too.

I take one last drag of the cigarette and open the window. The raindrops spray on my face lightly as a smile makes its way to my lips when I hear Sophie – a lot louder now – still being stubborn about playing in the rain. I toss the cigarette to the left, straight into a puddle near the fence that no one will clean. I close the window and step out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Our house inside is also always a mess. Pages and pages filled with shapeless stories that only a child's crayon can tell, hang off the walls. Sophie puts them wherever she likes them. It's the one thing Tanya doesn't have a problem with. She'd rather see these pages than crayon lines _on_ the walls which were painted in her favorite color. I pick up the toys littering the living room as I hear more whining from outside. Sophie _really_ doesn't want to come in.

I sigh and walk out to the porch, and just stand there, letting the wind caress me. Tanya looks over – her tense face finally morphing into relief because she knows Sophie will listen to me. What she doesn't know, is that I don't plan on calling Sophie in. I ask Tanya with a tilt of my chin to get back inside, and she does, handing me the towel and umbrella. She grimaces when she sees Sophie picking something up from a puddle and walking towards us.

"Daddy, look! It's a frog! It's a small frog!" she squeaks and bounces on her feet. I laugh when she shrieks as a tiny, tiny frog jumps out and gets lost in all the grass, as soon as she holds out her hands for me to see.

"Those things are gross, baby. Loaded with diseases," Tanya says, still standing there with a now horrified expression. It sort of makes me laugh harder when Sophie says "But it's sooooo cute!" and hops back into the lawn, trying to imitate the frog that she can't find, saying "Come on out, Freddie the Frog," in a soft voice.

"It's all you," Tanya mutters as she stands beside me. "Sometimes it's so hard to believe that she has any of my genes in her."

"Of course she has," I say. "Her hair is just like yours. Strawberry blonde. And her nose. Oh, that is definitely your nose. Mine isn't as pointy. And she scowls just like you."

She rolls her eyes.

"And when she is angry," I say, "she is loud as hell."

Tanya finally cracks a smile and shakes her head. "Call her in. She'll catch a cold."

"No, she won't. It's still summer."

"She has school in a few days!"

"She's just a kid. Let her live a little, Tanya."

She throws her hands up in the air and huffs, before turning around and walking inside. As soon as she's gone, Sophie looks at me and gestures at me to stay silent and come closer. I discard my shoes, roll up my pants, and step out into the rain, foregoing the umbrella, just enjoying the raindrops falling on my head and the wet grass under my feet.

I have to bend on a knee to see the other frog she whispers that she has in her hands, and as soon as I do, she splashes water allover my face. No frog in her hand – just rainwater from the puddle.

It's disgusting, and it makes me deliriously happy.

She starts laughing and I laugh with her and splash some water on her too. Then we get into a small contest, which she easily wins by giving me a hug – and hence getting me wet because of her wet clothes.

Her laughter, her squeals, her hugs, her wet hair in my face as she gives Eskimo kisses, her jumping around the lawn and holding on to my arms while I twirl her in the air – that's life.

––x––

We both catch a cold.

Tanya looks at us with smugness radiating from her face as she places two bowls of tomato soup on the table in front of us, while Sophie burrows deeper in her oversized, dry pajamas.

I wonder why Tanya is being so nice today. I wonder what she wants.

"Want me to feed you the soup?" Tanya asks Sophie, wringing her hands while she just stands there. Sophie sneezes into her tissue – causing Tanya to flinch back – and shakes her head.

"Okay," Tanya says, and sits on the other couch, switching on the TV. She flips the channels obsessively. It gives me a headache so I stop staring at the TV, wipe my nose, and put a spoonful of soup in my mouth. It's good.

"Why aren't you drinking that?" I ask Sophie.

She shrugs. "I don't like tomato soup."

"I know, but it's really good. Just try it. It will help with the cold."

She shakes her head.

I take a spoonful again and extend it towards her. "Try it, try it, before it falls on my hand!" I whisper urgently. She makes a scowling face very similar to what Tanya would, but blows on the spoon gently and lets me feed her anyway.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"It's okay."

She doesn't drink up the soup by herself. I have to spoon–feed her, slowly. Even though I am very careful with it, she giggles when a spoonful lands on my white t–shirt, and I narrow my eyes at her playfully and point to her own clothes, where there's a soup–stain, because she sneezed just as I was feeding her.

"You're both such kids," Tanya says. I didn't even know she was looking at us. She looks…bothered by something. She is confusing me today.

"But mom, Daddy's not a kid," Sophie says in a confused tone, her voice not as nasally as it was an hour ago, thankfully.

Tanya rolls her eyes. "I know."

And that's that. No one says a word as we finish up the soup. The silence is only broken by Sophie's request to watch SpongeBob. Tanya changes the channel and gets up to wash the empty bowls.

She never does dishes. By now I know something's wrong.

Sophie's eyes start drooping after five minutes of SpongeBob's babbling and she climbs onto my lap, making me smile. She continues watching the cartoon while I kiss her forehead and gently stroke her hair, and within a few more minutes she's deeply asleep with her head on my shoulder.

I gesture at Tanya to switch off the TV while I carefully get up with Sophie in my arms. She stirs and her eyes open, but once she sees where we're going, she puts her head on my shoulder again and her arms tighten around my neck.

Kicking open the door to her room and then the toys on the floor, I reach her bed and gently tuck her in, placing her favorite stuffed toy next to her. She snuggles up to the toy immediately and her breathing evens out. I kiss her forehead again, before turning off the light and tip–toeing out.

When I get back into the living room, Tanya is standing in front of the open refrigerator, biting her lower lip in contemplation. I reach past her and pour myself a glass of water.

And then just about choke on it when she asks, "Who is she, Edward?"

––x––


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter–12**

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**EPOV**

* * *

There is silence in the air. The kind which is more important than any words could be. The kind where you find all the answers you seek. The kind which can shatter a lie.

The lie isn't that I cheated on Tanya.

The lie was being with her in the first place.

The deception was broken not when Tanya asked 'who is she, Edward?'

The deception was broken when I answered 'the love of my life.'

Silence isn't palpable in our motionlessness.

Silence chokes us when a single tear runs down Tanya's face.

"Tanya, I…" What? Where is my explanation? Where are all the words that were supposed to make this easy and painless?

I step closer to her and move my hand towards her face, but she leans back and wipes the tear herself. She looks down. She speaks to the counter marble.

"Since when?"

I hesitate, but what's the use of hiding anymore? "I've known her for a couple of years."

"Figures."

Silence.

"Were there…more?"

"No, she…she's the one. The only one."

"Oh."

Silence.

"Look, Tanya, I _am_ sorry. I just…" I run a hand through my hair. "It just happened. I wish I could pinpoint and say 'that was when I fell for her' but that's not the case. It wasn't about the sex at first. Actually, it's never been just that because –"

"Because you care for her. You love her. I overheard you. I know."

"When?" I whisper.

She finally looks at me and gives me a sad smile. "A couple of days before your birthday. You thought I wasn't at home. And I _had_ gone out, but I had forgotten the car keys and came back inside…and you were talking to her on the phone. You were laughing." She pauses. "You hardly ever laugh anymore, except when Sophie makes you. I'd forgotten that sound."

"Why didn't you tell me that you knew?"

"Took me a while to come to terms with the whole thing. To accept that I'll never be enough."

I am an asshole. "Please don't feel that way."

"You don't know what it's like, okay? Don't tell me to not feel what I feel. All my life I've tried, _fucking tried so hard_ to live up to expectations. And always failed. I'm not even surprised that you found someone else to…be with."

This time she lets me caress her cheek. "Why would you say that?"

She puts a hand on top of mine, holding it to her face. "We were never meant to be, Edward. I think we both know that."

"No, I mean, why would you think you've failed?"

"Haven't I?"

I wish I had answers. She thinks for a long while. I wait silently, running my thumb across her cheek.

"When I was little, my parents insisted on a good education. They wanted me to be great at it. Perfect at it. I would excel in classes. I would win debates. I would win competitions. But it was never enough. There was always a bigger scholarship to be won, always a debate I couldn't win, always a reminder of that one subject I got a B grade in…always some mountain I couldn't climb. My Dad would go 'we have to be Ivy League good, kid. Remember that always.'" She shakes her head. "He'd say that every day. It's not like I could forget."

"But you did well, Tanya. You made it to Ivy League. You didn't fail."

"It still wasn't enough. Not for them. I wasn't sociable enough, I wasn't pretty enough, I wasn't the most popular. Mom would never let me go outside and just…be a kid. I was never a kid. I couldn't just jump in muddy puddles, because I had to be impeccable. I couldn't go out with that guy in my class who wore braces because he wasn't from a rich family. My prom date was the richest, most boring guy in town, who actually kissed someone else right in front of me. I couldn't socialize with the neighborhood kids, because they were 'tacky.'"

Her eyes have more tears. They slip down her face and on to my hand on her cheek. I move my other hand to her face as well, wiping them away. I wonder why she never told me all this before. We _were_ close, at least back in college.

It's as if she reads my thoughts. "And then _you_ happened. The first time you told me I was beautiful, I was sitting in my sweatpants and hadn't showered in two days because I was too busy cramming up for the exams." She smiles and so do I. "I remember that day so clearly. You barged into my apartment, accused me of stealing your notes and shouted obscenities at thin air when you couldn't find them among my books. And then you paused with my book midair, met my furious glance and blurted out 'You're really fucking beautiful, did I ever tell you that?'" She shakes her head, but there's a smile on her face.

"I'm still convinced you hid my notes somewhere," I say jokingly.

"Shut up. You know I didn't take them. Plus, you sort of confessed that it was an awful excuse to come and see me."

"I also asked you out that night."

"And I totally freaked out, because that sent my concentration for a toss."

I lean my forehead against hers.

"I was very glad you were in my life, Edward. I know I didn't say it enough. I didn't say it at all, actually. But I was."

"What happened to us?"

She bites her lip, as if forcing herself to not say it. But she does. "Sophie."

My heart shatters. "It's not her fault," I say fiercely. "Whatever became of us is _not her fault_. Don't bring her into this."

More tears. "It is. I never wanted a child. I never wanted to be a wife. I wasn't meant for that, Edward. I'm not…" She sniffles. "I'm not a good mom. I'm not even a mom. You're the Mom, you're the Dad, and that's okay. She'll never love me even a tenth of how much she loves you and that hurts but I can take it."

I open my mouth to argue, but she doesn't let me.

"When I put two and two together and figured out that you were seeing someone else, I thought about us obsessively. I thought and thought and thought till I couldn't take it. I watched you exchange pleasantries with everyone on your birthday party and I couldn't take it. I wanted to slap you and wipe that smile off your face. I wanted to scream at you and ask for my life. I wanted to find _her_ and ask her if she was proud of ruining our family. But then I realized…what was the point? Our family was ruined long before she stepped into the picture. And all of it was... I couldn't do a thing right. I wanted to cry so much. I kept telling myself to hold it together till the party was over. Till then I drank. One drink became two…two became four…and then I was crying and you were there holding me, and I couldn't find the urge to hit you. I couldn't find it in me to shout at you. I just wanted to be held. I wanted to be close to you. I wanted to show you that I could be good enough. That I was trying."

There is something lodged in my throat that I can't swallow down.

"You kept saying 'No, Tanya, what's wrong with you?' and it just _hurt_. You didn't even want to make love to me. But then you did. I don't know what changed, but you let me kiss you. And then one thing led to another, and just…I'm sorry about that night. That's not how I wanted it to happen."

"Don't be sorry," I whisper. "I am."

She sniffles and takes my hands from her face and puts them on her waist instead. She leans her head on my heart, and I wrap her in a hug.

"When Sophie was a baby, my mom would tell me every single thing I was doing wrong. I wasn't supposed to have this life. She kept saying I was destined for bigger things. She was so disappointed that I was reduced to breastfeeding and changing diapers."

"That's bullshit." All of it.

She shrugs. "That's her. Then by the time she got used to the idea of having this kid call her Gran, she had new mistakes to find. Even my dad. I just…I never got it. I never felt that I was doing something right. I wasn't meant to be…this."

"But that's just the way life is. You can't always choose your path. Sometimes life chooses it for you."

"Not in my world."

"So that's it. You resent our kid."

Her voice shakes. "I don't want to."

I sigh. "She's just a kid. She's a life _we_ made."

"She's the footprints that stomped on my dreams. She's all my mistakes packed into one."

I lean back and look at her with horrified eyes. "That's just a sick way of looking at it."

"I always knew my thinking was warped."

"How can you even…how can you not love her?"

"I _do_ love her! I just hate that I do. I can't be a good mom. I can't be a mom, period. I can't braid her hair and have water fights with her in the rain. Even when I don't want to be, I am my mom. That's why I just step back and let you be the parent. You're great at it. You know when to hold her and when to…how to…just be a dad. I bet she doesn't even love me."

"You can't run away from something that was your choice."

"It wasn't. We didn't plan a kid. We took all precautions."

"But it happened anyway. Doesn't that tell you something?"

"It tells me that we are a dead end. It tells me that sometimes it's hard to breathe because all I'm doing with my life is packing lunches, doing laundry, and trying not to be my mom, but ending up like her anyway."

My arms are back to my sides. "You're so selfish."

Her eyes flash in anger. "You're not? _I_ didn't go running away to someone else for intimacy. _I'm_ not living two lives at once."

"Yet you blame a kid for something she didn't even do."

"At least I'm not lying about it."

Silence.

"So what now? You're going to spend the rest of your life resenting her and me and everything?"

"No. I'm going to live. It's about damn time."

Silence. She takes a deep breath. My heart thunders in my ears. My breathing tries to smother my anger. My cracked lips won't move. My arms want to hold Bella and tell her to make this okay. My eyes dart to the door, my mind begging me to escape this bullshit. _Tanya_'s eyes steel with resolve.

"Let me go, Edward."

* * *

**A/N: This was going to be longer (and earlier), but I've spent the last week mostly arguing and crying, and wrestling with suitcases and throwing clothes here and there.**

**My grandpa's health has taken a turn for the worse, and my family and I are going to see him. Next update will be after I come back – in a couple of weeks.**

**I am on twitter – RoseMasenCullen. Lots of fangirling and sometimes RL ranting. Come say hi?**


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

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_Some people wish upon stars, some on dandelions, some on fallen eyelashes. Some like me find their wish fulfilled without even asking for it._

_Some people laugh, shed tears of happiness, celebrate the day they get their heart's desire. Some like me question it and seek the loophole. Because there has to be a loophole, a catch. No one gets what they want _and _what they don't deserve in the same breath – least of all me._

_I've learned to live with free–falling into something unknown, rather than flying head–on towards it, and maybe that's okay._

* * *

There have been a few moments when I've felt the earth slip away from under my feet.

When I was four, a girl in my pre–school snatched my doll from me and threw it out of the window because I called hers ugly. I watched a car run over my doll with eyes wide as saucers. I felt it then. I cried what seemed like forever. To this day, I haven't forgiven her.

When I was ten, I got my first and last 'F' on an assignment. I felt it then. I hid it away from my parents out of fear of getting grounded. When Dad found out, he didn't ground me, but he sat with me and explained to me the importance of giving something my all. He made sure my shy self understood that sometimes it was necessary to overcome inhibitions and ask a teacher when I didn't understand something. That I couldn't do everything on my own. Later that year, I got straight A's. Over dinner with his close friend and colleague Harry Clearwater, my dad puffed his chest in pride and said that I was such an intelligent student. _"She's my star."_ I felt like flying and free–falling all at once.

When I was twelve, my only best friend moved cross–country, leaving me alone and aching. I felt it then.

When I was fourteen, I watched Edward fall down from a chair and sprain his wrist. He groaned in pain the entire time we were in our PE teacher's car while he drove him to the hospital and I kept apologizing and praying that he hadn't broken his hand. I felt it then.

When I was sixteen, I came home from school to find my mom clammy and short of breath, while she sunk down against the kitchen shelves and I dialed 911 with shaky hands. I felt it then. A few hours later a man in a white coat walked into a corridor with a somber face and I watched my father fall to pieces. I felt it then.

When I was eighteen, a guy with blonde hair and pretty blue eyes made me dream of impossible things and told me he could make them possible. He convinced me to steal cash from my father's bedside drawer and gave me courage to face my Dad when he caught me red–handed. I felt it then, as Dad pointed at me with an accusing finger, told me he knew I'd been seeing that good–for–nothing boy, and asked me to get the hell out of his house if that's what I wanted so badly. I couldn't swallow my pride and did just that, not looking back at his angry face as I hurled accusation after accusation at him while I packed my bags. I told him he was a pathetic excuse of a father. I told him he could go marry alcohol. I told him to drown in it. Staying in a cheap motel on the highway, James took my virginity and called me pretty names. When he was asleep and I was in the bathroom, I looked into the mirror and saw a stranger. I felt it then.

When I was twenty, I screamed at James that he was worse than my father in his addiction. He screamed right back and told me I was a whore. He was convinced I was sleeping with someone else behind his back. The irony. I told him he was full of shit. I told him he was my biggest mistake. He told me I didn't know shit about mistakes. Three weeks, a police complaint, and a bank statement informing me that all the money had been withdrawn was what it took for me to realize that he wasn't coming back. My old landlord looked at me with eyes full of pity as I begged him to let me stay till I found a job. I felt it then.

A few months later, I sat under a tree in a random park, with nothing to my name, pulling at the sleeves of my threadbare jacket to keep myself warm, and stared at an old lady eating a sandwich. I thought about twenty different ways in which I could steal that sandwich before she finished it. I should have hated myself for my thoughts but all I could think of was the cramps in my stomach from lack of nutrition. I felt it then.

A year later, I hyperventilated and threw up in the staff bathroom because I had followed Maria's suggestion and let a guy fuck me for twenty bucks. _Twenty bucks. _That was the worth of my sense of self. I had to lose the very last thing I had left – my dignity – so I could buy dinner. I felt it then.

A few months ago, I lost control of my body to some drug I didn't even take willingly, and fell to pieces in the shower, while Edward held me close and whispered that I'll be okay. When he held me in my bed and hummed me to sleep, I realized that I was long past being 'okay' – that being 'okay' was like one of James' promises, enticing and elusive all at once. I felt it then.

A few weeks ago, I watched Edward scoop up his perfect daughter and be a part of his perfect family, and I clasped a butterfly necklace around his baby girl's wrist, realizing that the perfect necklace belonged on that perfect wrist, and not around my flawed neck. That I wasn't – and will never be – a part of something so beautiful. That the look in his eyes for his daughter was something sacred and untouchable. That my longing was going to be forever unfulfilled. I felt it then.

And then I felt the floor slip away today, when I watched Edward tell me that Tanya filed for a divorce; words that I once thought would bring me joy – because then I could steal Edward from everyone and keep him forever, and grab my perfection, as if he were that sandwich I desperately needed. I was wrong. Because I hurt. As Edward's face contorted in pain and he recounted their conversation, I hurt for him, I hurt for Tanya, I hurt for Sophie. Whom could I pick out and blame for this except myself? I walked into his world and shook it till the pieces fell down like autumn leaves fall when you shake the tree branch. I delighted in that shower of leaves, just like a kid. Selfish, selfish, always so selfish and too late to change a thing.

I watch him now as he sits on my bed, confused and lost, face blank and mind a thousand miles away.

I crawl up beside him and hand him a bottle of water, which he accepts gratefully and takes a drink. I stretch and kiss his cheek when he's done, earning a smile.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out.

His brows furrow. "What?"

"For, you know, everything." I wring my hands in my lap. "Wanting you, taking you, tearing your family apart."

He's shaking his head even before I'm done, and shifts us so we're both lying on the bed, facing each other, limbs tangled and noses brushing.

"It's not your fault," he finally says.

"Then whose is it?"

"Nobody's. Some things are just beyond any attempts of fixing. Some things are just never meant to be."

"You sound like a corny novel."

His chuckle makes breathing easy. "Maybe there is wisdom in those."

I roll my eyes but smile.

"Seriously, though, I won't let you blame yourself any more than I'll let Tanya blame Sophie."

I take a deep breath and wonder how _he_ ended up comforting _me_. "I hate to see you so sad."

"You think I was happy before you walked into my life? I wasn't. I was simply existing; not living. You made me live again, Bella. You made me happy. You _make_ me happy. I'm not sad that my marriage is ending – it should have ended a while back. I'm just sad because I worry."

"About Sophie, right?"

"Yeah. It's just…how can a mother not love her child? How can a mother just want to walk away? It's just baffling to me. How can _anyone _not love Sophie enough to stay with her? What am I supposed to tell her? Not now, but when she grows up…what will I tell her when she asks me if her mom loved her, or why she left? I know I should wait till I get to that bridge before I think of crossing it, but still…she'll have to live without her mother's love. She will suffer for something that wasn't her fault."

"Edward…she is already living without her mother's love. I won't pretend to know how your family life was, but from what you told me, Tanya hasn't exactly been the doting mom."

"Yeah, but she's still _been_ there, you know? What am I going to say to Sophie when she questions that absence?"

"You're just going to love her so much that she never notices the absence."

His eyes leave mine and his fingers toy with the buttons on my oversized, plaid shirt that smells like him. His voice is small. "I'm kind of terrified of doing this alone. I'm kind of hoping you'll do this with me."

My suddenly–cold fingers find his and pry his hand away from the shirt and bring it to my waist as I snuggle up. My voice is smaller. "Are you asking me what I think you are asking me?"

His lips find my ear. "Move in with me."

And as always, my first instinct is to push him away. "Is it that simple?"

His grip tightens. "Just say yes and I don't care how complicated it is, we'll do it."

Say it, damn it, just fucking say yes and put him out of his misery. "What about my plans? Like college."

"Plans don't require any particular residential address."

"Tanya will never let you…" And right there. Right there is my biggest fear and most practical worry.

"I don't think it will be up to her anymore."

"Sophie _is_ her daughter. Even when you'll have the custody, I don't think she'll let a whore – er, an ex–whore – live under the same roof as her daughter."

He looks at me with disapproval on his face. "Just say yes. We'll see to this when we get to it." His lips find mine and lips are a dangerous, dangerous weapon for coercion. "Say yes." Tongue traces my bottom lip ever so gently and his hands trace my body as if worshipping it. "Say yes, baby." His breath is on my face and my parted lips gasp for air.

But before I can say a word, his cell phone vibrates on the bedside table. We freeze. It's past 1 am. Nothing good comes out of a call so late. At once his body stiffens and he awkwardly reaches for the scary device. His eyes widen as they scan the screen. He presses a button. His voice is panicked and I instinctively hold his free hand in mine.

"Tanya, what's wrong?"

I hold my breath. She's talking loudly but I can't make out the words. There's another wailing noise in the background. I know it's Sophie. I let out a breath and say a silent thank you to the universe that at least they're both safe.

Edward asks her generic questions – if she checked Sophie's temperature, what did she make her eat, and other stuff. Then his face twists in anger.

"Are you fucking serious?"

More shouting from the other end.

"Fine, I'll be there in a few minutes," he spits into the phone, ends the call and throws it on the carpeted floor. He sits up and rubs his face, frustration radiating off of him. I sit up too and kiss his shoulder blade through the t–shirt.

"What's wrong?"

He sighs and gets up from the bed, retrieving his phone and hunting for his shoes. "Tanya had the splendid plan of taking Sophie to her parents' house for the night and breaking the news to her. And now Sophie won't stop crying. Understandably so. She's convinced that she'll have to stay with her mom from now on and never get to see her dad, because that's what happened to another girl in her class."

"Aw, poor baby. And you left your shoes near the couch."

"Thanks."

I follow him out and my heart melts a little because he cares for his daughter so much. Rationally, I know most fathers do. I wonder if my father ever worried this much over me, and quickly dismiss that thought. It's safer to put his memories away.

"I think I'll spend tomorrow with Sophie."

My heart melts even more. "You should," I tell him with a smile.

"I'll call you later, okay? This will be a busy week at office, too so I may not show up on Tuesday, either."

I walk up to him and brush his hair from his forehead, smoothing out the worry lines. "It's alright. Go, comfort your baby."

He pulls me in for a tight hug. "I love you."

"I love you too. And Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Yes."

And I am awarded the sweetest smile, the sweetest kiss, and the sweetest man whom I don't deserve.

* * *

**A/N: My grandpa is out of the hospital; thank you for all your kind wishes :)**

**My Avalanche readers, I **_**am**_** working on the epilogue. My college work is making my life a little crazy and it's difficult to focus on a 10k words chapter.**

**Whoever recc'ed Flames wherever, thank you so much. I had a lot of people put this on alert between the last update and this one.**

**Come and say hi on twitter? RoseMasenCullen**


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

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**EPOV**

* * *

I sit on Sophie's bed, reading her the same story for the third time. It's 3 am. My eyes are burning. But she keeps insisting that she wants to hear it again. I can't deny her.

"So Amy said, 'No, Mr. Brent, you –'"

"– cannot take away my books."

I smirk. "Fifth time."

"Sorry." Her smile tells me she's not sorry at all for interrupting me _yet again_. I sigh. She looks at me eagerly, waiting for me to continue.

"Sweetheart, it's 3 am. You should sleep."

She clutches her teddy tighter and shakes her head.

I close the book softly and keep it on the bedside table behind me. She frowns and tries to reach past me to get it but I gather her in my arms instead.

"I'll read it again to you tomorrow night. I promise."

She pouts and tries to reach again. She's still upset.

"Hey." I hold her tighter. "Do I ever break my promises?"

She doesn't answer. I kiss the top of her head.

"You won't have to leave me, Sophie. _You won't._"

Her tiny voice shakes with tears. "Bree had to."

"But you're not Bree. I love you too, too much to let you go with your mom."

"But Bree's Daddy loves her too. Bree says so."

I wish kids didn't make so much sense. "I love you _even more_."

"So I'll stay with you? Do you pinky–promise that I'll stay with you?"

"Yes, yes, yes. The only thing that will change is that your mom won't stay with us anymore."

"Why not? Doesn't mom love me?"

I swallow hard. "She does. In her own way."

"What's her way?"

"Her way…is just her way."

"That sounds stupid, Daddy."

I tickle her sides. "What do you expect? I'm tired. It's way past my bedtime. And yours. I don't have enough energy to make sense."

"But I wanna know!"

I sigh in exasperation. "Know what, sweetheart?"

"Why do some mommies and daddies get divorce but others don't?"

I rub my face. "Because some mommies and daddies stop loving each other. But they do love their babies. So I love you. Your mom also loves you."

"You said that before too."

"And it's true."

"But you don't love mom?"

"I do. In my own way."

"Daddyyyyy," she whines. "I don't understand what 'own way' means."

"You will understand it after you've slept."

"No, no, wait. Tell me. Why don't you love mom? Mom's pretty."

I smile. "You think she's pretty?"

She nods. "She has hair like my Barbie."

"You have the same hair, too."

"But it's not as pretty as hers."

"It's even prettier."

"Does mom love you?" She's relentless.

"Sophie, I really think that's enough questions for the day."

She keeps looking at me with wide eyes till I give in.

"She…likes me. I like her too. But not enough to stay with each other."

"But you like me enough to stay with me?"

This is the hundredth time I am answering this question. "Yes."

"Good. 'Cause I like you too. I like mom too, but I like you even more."

And I will never tire of hearing that.

"That's very nice. Now can we _please_ sleep?"

She thinks over it for a moment, before blurting out, "What if I sleep and you sleep and while we're sleeping mom takes me back to grandma's place?"

My throat is tight. "She won't. She's sleeping too. In the room upstairs."

"But what if she wakes up, Daddy?"

I take her little face in my hands and speak slowly. "I won't let her take you away."

"But –"

"Shhh. I won't. That's a promise."

Her face scrunches up as she processes this. "Will you sleep with me here for now?"

I sigh. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"And Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Will you read Amy's story one last time?"

I groan. "Sophie…"

"The last. Promise. See, I'm closing my eyes too," she says and snuggles to my side, pulling the blanket over us and closing her eyes dutifully.

I shake my head and realize that if she asked me to bring the moon…I'd probably find a way to make that happen, too.

"One day, Amy didn't want to go to school…"

* * *

**BPOV**

I throw down this fucking baby book and almost wish I could burn it. It's useless. _Useless._ This book tells me pointless information that is of no help when it comes to tackling a three year old.

I rub my face to keep myself awake. I didn't sleep well last night – it was difficult to fall back asleep after Edward got a call from Tanya and left. There was too much on my mind. I couldn't shut off my thoughts. And anyway, I had a Sunday to sleep in, right?

Wrong.

Maria fell sick. Even this morning she threw up thrice. She called me to take care of her daughter Andrea while she went to visit the doctor.

Before she left, she did tell me that she suspects she is pregnant again. And that if she is, she has no idea who the father is. I don't know which of the two things bothers me more.

I am tired and frustrated and this fucking kid doesn't want to fucking sleep and Edward hasn't called me all day and I am worried.

I'm worried a lot lately.

All night, in and out of sleep, I wondered what it must be like to be a parent. One phone call and Edward was out of the door in two minutes flat. Maria has no idea who the father of her baby might be, but she wrapped her arms around her stomach and told me with a teary smile that she could be expecting. Happiness radiated from her. She might not even have enough to take care of the kid – God knows she kills herself trying to feed Andrea – and yet wonder poured from her eyes.

I keep thinking of my father. And it sucks because every memory is laced with pain. With shame. With guilt.

With love.

A love I stomped allover and a love I spat on and kicked away.

Christ, I don't even know if he's still alive. What kind of a person does that make me?

And then I wonder – why didn't he try? Why didn't he try to find me? How much does he hate me now, that he doesn't even care?

Maybe Charlie is more like Tanya in that way.

"Where Mama?" The small voice asks me for what seems like the hundredth time. She doesn't speak much. She only wails. And screams. And throws things. Maybe all three year olds are like that?

"She'll be here soon," I assure her in the calmest possible voice. I've been assuring her for the past six hours, though. Maria isn't picking up the phone and I am even more worried now.

I also have a raging headache because this kid won't stop watching Dora the Explorer. I don't care how psychotic this is, but sometimes I just want to pick a gun and shoot that bitch down.

Twenty more minutes of this torture, and finally Maria arrives, breathless and soaked from head to toe. She explains how she walked more than half the way because the traffic jam was just that bad because of the rain.

I hadn't even realized that it was raining.

She tells me that she has food poisoning – that the pregnancy thing was just a scare. She tells me she isn't sure if she should be relieved or disappointed.

I tell her I'm not so sure either.

Maria lets me borrow an umbrella so I can take the short walk to my home. She wasn't kidding – it's a torrential downpour. Despite the umbrella, my jeans still get soaked.

By the time I reach home, I am shivering and it's dark outside. I take off my jeans and pick up my phone to call Edward. Except I don't.

Because when I scan my small contact list, I still see Charlie's name. I still face the fact that whether he loves me or not, I will always be his daughter. That my indiscretions and wrongdoings will not change a childhood I was blessed to have. A childhood Andrea won't have. A childhood Sophie won't have.

Both my parents loved me. While I may not be worthy of that love anymore (I bet even my mom looks down on me from heaven, in utter disgust), I did then and I still do love them back. I pace around my bedroom what seems like hours.

And then I take a deep breath and call him.

It rings and rings and rings and no one picks it up. Just like that – my heart sinks. Does he not live there anymore? Is he not okay? Is he…dead? Irrational panic grips my body and my throat closes.

I call again. And yet again it rings forever but no one answers.

I call yet again. Same, same, same.

No. I refuse to accept that something is wrong. I can't. Not now. I can't lose him now. Not when I have finally found the courage to find him.

So I dial again.

On the fifth ring, there's a click. And then there's a sound of shuffling on the other end. And then there's his voice – gruff and deep, annoyed and sleepy.

"Hello?"

I can't answer. I feel like I'll scream. I clamp a hand around my mouth and feel the tears on my face.

"Hello?" he says again. I hear the frustration in his voice.

I take a shaky breath.

"Look, if you're calling so relentlessly, you better have one goddamn good reason. And if you called as a prank, I'll have you know I'm a retired Police Chief and I can still get your ass hauled into jail."

I kind of want to laugh. I mostly want to cry.

I kind of sob.

"Hi, Daddy."

And _there's _home.

* * *

**A/N: Life is crazy. I am lazy. Priorities are hazy –-– Disastrous combination, right here.**

**I've been fail at replying to reviews, but reviewers will get a teaser this time.**

**Thank you for reading. :)**


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

* * *

**BPOV**

* * *

_You know that moment when you lose something – be it something important or trivial – and everything falls out of pattern? Like, say you can't find your glasses, so you spend your precious morning minutes looking for them and the routine crumbles. You miss your train, or you miss that window of time which usually allows you to reach without being stuck in traffic, you miss your coffee, you forget about charging your phone, and you miss your normalcy. And when you finally reach the office – tired, late, angry, and frustrated – someone asks you what your glasses are doing on your head._

_Sometimes, what you think you've lost is still there. You just can't see it till someone points it out._

* * *

There is silence on the other end. Ten terrifying seconds of only my thundering heartbeat in my ears. Ten terrifying seconds of holding my breath so I don't sob again. Ten terrifying seconds of my nails digging in my cheek because my hand is clamped over my mouth so tight.

And then his familiar voice, strained and aghast. "Bells?"

I want to run. I want to throw my fucking phone twenty feet away from me. I want to scream. I want to laugh. I want to cry.

I do nothing.

"Bells, that's you, right?"

"I…I'm…um…hi. Hi, dad."

I swear I can hear him smile. "Hi, Bells."

"How are you?"

He sighs. "Never been better. Retired last year."

"Oh."

"What about you?"

"I'm uh, I'm good. Recently started a new job." It's not a lie. So I'm not fooling him. That's what I tell myself.

"Well. Congratulations."

"Yeah, thanks."

Cue awkwardness.

"I just…I was just worried. Dad, are you okay?"

"Yep. Still breathing."

_Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry._

"No, I just meant that you…"

_That you never called. You never bothered to check on me. I discarded you and you let me. Why didn't you look for me?_

"I miss you," I whisper.

His voice cuts me raw. "Took you long enough."

"Dad –"

"How many years has it been, Bells? Ten? Twelve? Does it make a difference?"

I wish he was angry. _I wish_. But he is bitter. Disappointed. Hurt. That kills.

"I'm sorry."

"Do you have any idea how worried I've been all these years?"

Tears fill my eyes again.

"I put your face on a milk carton for a year. Even though you'd gone by choice. Put my life on hold looking for you. Even tracked down that cab you left in but it only led me to a motel in the middle of nowhere. I wished I knew you were okay."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." And just like that I am sobbing too hard to talk.

"Bella, don't cry. Look…tell me you're okay. Just tell me everything's okay." He still sounds so worried.

I hiccough. "I'm alright. I promise."

"You swear?"

"Yeah. I just…I miss you and I really wanted to hear your voice," I confess.

"I'm glad you called," he says quietly.

"Me too."

"You should…you really should stop by sometime. _Where _are you?"

And I don't know why but I don't want him to know where I am. "I will. I will come by…someday."

"Don't bullshit me with promises of someday. I'm too old for false promises."

I sniffle. "Dad, I swear. Just give me a little more time."

He snorts, and it's so odd to hear that sound. "More time," he repeats.

It hurts. It hurts that I hurt him and it hurts that I have nothing but a false promise and it hurts because it just fucking hurts.

"Dad, I gotta go now, okay?"

"Bella –"

"Please know that I love you."

"I love you too, Bells. You'll always be my kid." He sounds desperate, like maybe he thinks this could be the last time we talk. Like maybe he thinks that I think so too.

And I end the call before I break down even more.

It is then that I hear Edward's voice behind me. "You okay?"

I whirl and clutch my chest, stifling a scream. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry, I did knock for a while, but you didn't open the door so I just used the spare key…"

"Oh. Okay. Yeah, um. I was on the phone, so…"

He crosses the room in four strides and gently puts his hands on my cheeks. "What happened?"

I feel my face crumble and I wordlessly bury my face in his shirt as I let go of…everything.

––x––

We're on the couch – he lies sideways and I am curled as close to him as I could be in this limited space. He is leaning up on his elbow, while his hand is under my head. He strokes my face with his other hand, pushing my hair back and running his pointer finger under my eyes.

"You look like you haven't slept properly in days," he whispers and leans down to kiss the skin his finger was tracing a moment ago.

"I haven't."

He sighs, his breath fanning my face. "Truthfully, nor have I. Well, last night, anyway."

"How is Sophie?"

His lips move to my forehead. "She's as okay as a kid can be in a situation like this."

"I wish Tanya hadn't told her when you weren't around."

"Oh, she didn't. I talked to her this morning. She was actually telling her mother about it, and Sophie overheard and started asking questions. So she was forced to explain things and that just made it worse."

"That sucks."

"It does."

"I wasn't expecting you today…I mean, you had said you'd be spending time with Sophie, so…"

"I did spend the day with her. But then my Dad showed up after I spoke to my parents about the whole thing, and Sophie didn't leave his side since then. She's really fond of him. Mostly because he is generous with hot chocolate." He grins, lost in his own thoughts.

"That sounds nice."

He looks at me in a way that has me blushing, even though he does nothing but stare. "That's our future. You know that, right?"

Before I can respond, he continues. "We're going to marry someday and make pretty babies and watch them grow up and we'll grow old and spoil our grandkids rotten."

And I don't know why I'm crying again, but I am. "I'd like that."

He kisses my tears away. "You'll have that."

"I wish I could give that to my Dad, too. A chance to know me now. A chance to know you. A chance to walk me down the aisle someday. A chance to see his grandkid someday."

"You can," he says earnestly. "You will."

"I'm so scared…"

"Justifiably so. But I promise you, everything will be okay."

"I don't know why it scares me even more to believe in that promise."

"I do." He kisses me softly. "You've been let down too much." Another kiss. "I know it's not easy, but try to have some faith in me." Kiss, kiss and one more kiss. "I'm not your father. I'm not James. I won't let you down."

I twine my fingers in his hair and pull him down so I can kiss him properly. "I love you," I say between kisses. "I love you, I love you, I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

He responds to every kiss, every touch. His moan vibrates against my lips when my hands travel inside his shirt. His heartbeat against my chest is the most amazing feeling in the world. His hand teasing the skin between my t–shirt and underwear is driving me _insane_ with desire.

But my stomach chooses to interrupt the moment by growling loudly. I groan and bury my face in his shoulder, feeling breathless laughter shake his frame.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asks, still catching his breath.

"Food is the last thing on my mind right now, Edward," I say lowly, kissing his throat.

"Your body has different ideas." He pauses because I dart my tongue out. He makes a low sound in his throat that does crazy things to my heartbeat. Then he sighs. "_Tell_ _me_."

"Uh…this morning. I had a couple of toasts."

He pulls back. Crap.

"It's nine in the evening, Bella. You haven't eaten all day!"

"Big deal. I've done that before too."

He frowns. "Not funny."

"Wasn't supposed to be."

I try pulling him back to me, but he resists. "Let's eat something first."

I huff. "There's nothing in the house."

"Why not?"

"Because I haven't grocery shopped in weeks."

"_Weeks_?"

I roll my eyes. "Don't act so incredulous. I've been busy."

"That doesn't mean you won't eat properly."

"You're seriously going to waste making–out time in lecturing me on eating habits?" I ask jokingly. Sort of.

"Yes. I care about your health. You should try doing that sometime."

"I do. It's just that…" But I snap my mouth shut. I don't want him to start on _that_ lecture again.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Don't make me tickle it out of you."

I give him a dirty look. Then I avert my eyes. "I didn't get paid last week. Or this week. And I didn't want to withdraw money just now because –"

"You know, it sort of hurts me a lot when you do shit like that."

"Like when I not feed myself?"

He looks heartbroken. "Like when you treat me like a stranger."

"What? No!"

He just shakes his head, his face still crestfallen.

"I can't just live off your money all the time, okay?" I snap, frustrated. Embarrassed. Ashamed.

"Yeah, this independent woman thing you have going on…it doesn't mean you won't let me know when you're going hungry."

"I wasn't going hungry! Just…limited supplies and all."

He touches his nose to mine and speaks against my lips. "Please don't do that again. Please. For the sake of my sanity."

"Edward…"

"No, I mean it. You have to get used to this. I may not be filthy rich, but I do have enough."

I look down. "I know." I shake my head. "I don't like asking for anything. I don't like feeling helpless."

"You're not! You…" He takes a deep breath. "You're amazing. You're willing to put yourself out there and still make something of yourself. That takes guts, okay? But that doesn't mean you won't let someone hold your hand through it. Maybe someone really wants to."

I hug him to me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You have."

Trust me to ruin his good mood. I sigh and kiss his hair. "What can I do to make it better?"

"Eat dinner."

I roll my eyes. "Fine. You want to order something?"

He lifts his head from my shoulder. "Let's go out."

"Go out," I repeat.

"Mm–hmm."

"Now?" I ask him incredulously.

"Yes, now."

"In public."

"So?"

"Edward."

"Bella."

"_Edward._"

"You're not my dirty little secret anymore."

"Not to Tanya. But to the world…"

"I don't care about the world. I care about you. Let's go and eat in some nice restaurant where they serve the unhealthiest food."

"But –"

"No excuses." He abruptly gets up and off the couch, holding out his hand for me. "Come on."

His enthusiasm is charming. So is that grin. And I really, really don't want to hurt his feelings again.

So I take his hand with a smile of my own and let him give me the warmest, tightest hug. Goosebumps cover my arms when his lips touch the pulse point on my neck. I realize that if the rest of my life is made of moments like these…it could be a beautiful life indeed.

––x––

Our bubble bursts when we finally reach the restaurant. The idea of being out in public with Edward without him being judged for it proves to be just that – an idea.

We walk in holding hands, laughing as I recount some of my childhood memories.

And then my laugh gets stuck in my throat. My feet stop moving so he's jerked back as I stop.

"What?" he asks me.

"Jasper's here."

* * *

**A/N: Review = teaser.**


	17. Chapter 16

**A/N: I could give you a hundred reasons why my chapters are getting delayed, and not one will suffice. Sadness.**

* * *

**Chapter 16**

* * *

**EPOV**

* * *

I feel the tension around us. Within two seconds, she is stiff as a statue and I realize how unprepared I am to deal with a situation like this.

Telling my parents that I'm in love with a beautiful woman was easy. They don't know her, but Jasper does. And I want to kick myself for not thinking this through. I don't know what to tell Jasper. I don't even actually see Jasper right now, but Bella is adamant that it's his car outside – she caught the sight of it from the French windows here.

"I recognize that license plate," she insists. "Let's get out of here?"

I am relieved at her suggestion. And with that relief comes shame. I shouldn't be relieved. After promising her that I won't hide her, how easily do I want to!

"Edward?" she says when I don't reply. "Don't beat yourself up. It's okay. We'll go somewhere else."

I take her face in my hands. "I don't _want_ to keep running away. You know that, right?"

Before she can reply, she looks past my shoulders and freezes. "He just spotted me. Don't turn around," she says, urgency lacing her tone. Then she looks at me again. "Wait for me outside. Park the car a block away. Go, Edward," she pleads, sort of pushing me away.

"What? Bella I can't just –"

"Will you just _trust me_? Please!" she whisper–shouts. "I know how to deal with this. If I leave with you now, he'll follow us out. I know him better than you do. Go. Don't turn around and go. I'll be outside in no time."

As much as I hate leaving her here, her plan makes sense. Relief crosses her features when I say 'okay' and hurry out of there.

I hate stepping out into the cold again. It's not winter, yet the night is chilly. So badly I want to turn around to see what's going on, but I do as she asked me to and park the car on the next street, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel impatiently as I wait for her. Five minutes is how long my patience lasts.

I step back out and go back to the restaurant, trying to walk in the shadows like a fucking creep.

And it is then that I see them outside the restaurant. I can't see Bella's face, because Jasper holds Bella to him, his one arm around her waist and the other hand tracing her arm up and down. His face is buried in her neck. His hand on her back is gripping her jacket tightly.

And my hands form into fists.

But before I can take a step, Bella does. She takes a step back and puts on an obviously forced smile while she tries to pry his hands off her.

"Jasper, I can't," she says. "I told you."

"Come on, sweetheart. For old times' sake?"

"I _told you_ that I left that…job. I don't do this anymore."

"Well, I know that. I went there. That woman who is with you usually…yeah, she told me you left. I tried asking your contact information but she didn't budge. Not even for money."

She shakes her head. "Why the hell would you need my contact details, Jazz?"

"I thought we had something–something going on, yeah?"

"Jasper, you're drunk."

"What's that have to do with anything?"

"You're saying stuff you don't mean. We had an arrangement. You paid me for sex. But we can't anymore."

I watch as Jasper lowers his head to say something in her ear, my nails digging into my palm as I'm clenching my fists so hard. She flinches in response to whatever he says and this is about as much as I can take.

"Goddammit, Jasper!" she spits through clenched teeth and takes a step back, finally breaking his hold.

"Hey now, don't be like that…"

"Don't come closer or I'll scream bloody murder."

But he does so anyway, his arms still outstretched as if he expects her to run into them any minute. I push myself forward and step into the light. Enough is enough.

"I think you heard the girl, Jazz," I say calmly. The moment Bella hears my voice, her stance relaxes. She seems relieved, if not for the panicked expression on her face.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Jasper asks.

"That's none of your business."

"No, interrupting _us_ is none of _your_ business. We were having a private talk."

I step forward so that Bella is half–shielded by my body. "Really? Because it looked more like you were harassing an innocent girl late in the night."

"You're wrong on both counts. I ain't harassing and she ain't an innocent girl. We're just two people, talking. Get the hell out of it."

I hold my hands up, palms outward in a calming gesture. "Go home, Jazz. Call a cab. You're drunk. I can smell the alcohol even till here."

But he's having none of it. He takes a step in our direction, eyes only on Bella. I brace myself, fully prepared to push him away. But then I feel Bella's hand grabbing my jacket from behind.

"Edward, let's go home," she whispers, low enough that only I can hear. "Please."

Jasper freezes. His eyes move from her face to her hand and suddenly, manically, he laughs.

"Your're…you…" he gasps. "You're fucking her! _You_ are fucking _her_."

I clench my jaw. "If you want to get back home in one piece, you'll shut up right about now."

His laughter subsides, but he still smiles like a crazy person. "Shut up about what? About the fact that you're fucking a whore and decided to throw your life away with my sister? Yeah, that's big of you."

"You don't know shit. You don't know what the hell you're talking –"

"Oh, I know _exactly_ what I'm talking about," he snaps. "Hell, I'm known in the family as the gambler, the immoral asshole…while I have to hear praise upon praise about how _Edward_ is the perfect man, and _Edward_ is so successful, and _Edward_ is so respectful, and how _Edward_ has morals, and dignity and a fucking _daughter_, andyou know what? You don't even have standards."

And suddenly there is chaos. I charge towards him, ignoring Bella's plea and shrugging her off when she tries to hold me back. "You little piece of –"

"What, can't take the truth, huh?" Jasper says cockily as I grab his collar. "You're no better than any of us. You're no better than _me,_ you hypocritical shit."

I hear Bella's panicked voice. "Guys, please stop this. I think someone in the restaurant is about to call the cops and –"

"Oh shut up," Jasper interrupts her. "'I don't do this job anymore,' my ass. How much did he pay you to fuck his sorry ass? How much money did you make in ruining my sister's life? Do you even know he has a kid?"

I draw back my fist, but before it can make impact, Bella is grabbing my arm and pulling me back again.

"Leave it, Edward," she begs. "It's not worth it."

It's the deadness of her voice that stops me. Emotionless. Detached. Empty.

I shrug my arm out of her grasp. "How can you even –"

"Just trust me, okay? Please, let's just go."

She tugs on my arm again, and this time I let her pull me back and slowly back us towards the street. I yank my hand back from her again, still adrenaline–charged and irrationally pissed that I didn't even get a punch in.

"You're such a piece of shit," she looks back and shouts at Jasper.

"Says the one who fucks men for money."

Bella senses that I'm about to go back again, so she grabs my hand yet again and walks faster towards the road. This time I let her. She asks something I don't hear because I'm too focused on twenty different ways to kill Jasper.

She shakes the hand she's holding. "Edward? Where's the car?"

I wordlessly point and let her lead us there. Without asking me, she reaches into my jacket pocket, takes out the keys, unlocks and climbs into the _driver's_ side.

"I can drive," I tell her, still standing out.

"I never implied you couldn't. Just get in."

"Do you even have a license?"

"No."

"I can't let you drive."

"What are you, a cop? Just fucking get in before I fucking lose my nerve."

My jaw tightens again but I do as she asks, slamming the door. The car purrs to life and she reverses it out of the parking spot smoothly.

I sulk in my seat, angry at her. Angry at Jasper. Angry at life. Everything. Till I can't take the silence anymore.

"I didn't know you could drive."

"I was a cop's daughter. I knew how to drive even when I was fifteen. I had a truck back home too."

"Are."

"What?"

"You said you _were_ a cop's daughter, but you still are."

She smiles ever so slightly. "No, he retired. So an ex–cop, technically."

I take a deep breath, still reeling in the aftermath of my adrenaline rush. "You drove a truck?" I ask as she stops at a signal.

"Mm–hmm," she nods, her eyes shining with excitement. "It was the best damn thing ever. I mean, you'd probably call it a piece of mangled metal but that thing had more power than anything. Like, it was one of those vehicles that always leave a dent in the other vehicle, no matter whose fault the bump is."

I smile a little and reach out to stroke her hair. "You sound like you miss it."

She lets out a breath. "Kind of. Charlie must have probably sold it by now, though."

"No, I meant, you miss your old life."

She doesn't reply to that and that confirms it. The signal turns green and she drives in silence. It's only after a few minutes that she speaks again. "What did you think you were going to gain by hitting Jasper?"

"He had no business to say shit like that."

"And you were going to – what? Teach him manners?"

"I was angry. You should have let me at least knock his teeth out."

"You're so amazingly naïve, Edward," she says, shaking her head.

"What the fuck? I try to defend you and I'm naïve?"

"First – you were not defending _me_. I didn't need to be defended against what was the truth. You were defending an accusation against _yourself_. Like, how dare he question your morals? My morals were non–existent to begin with."

"That's not true and you –"

"No, let me finish. Secondly, you are naïve because you didn't even _consider_ that Jasper could press charges against you and you'd have a lawsuit against your name. What do you think that would've done to your chances of having Sophie's custody? And to add to that drama, you would've had an ex–prostitute as a witness on your side. An ex–prostitute you had illicit relations with back when she _was_ a prostitute. That would've done wonders," she scoffs.

"I…I wasn't thinking about that," I admit shamefully.

"I know. But I was. Thanks for snapping at me, by the way," she says coldly.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

"Hey, I am. Really. I was just angry and –"

"I'm still hungry," she says and pulls into the next drive–thru she sees. We end up getting cheeseburgers and eat them in silence when she parks at some random street. My phone rings and it's Sophie, asking me how much longer I'll take to get home. I tell her a few minutes and ask her to go to bed.

'_Daddy, Gramps doesn't do all the voices when he reads my bedtime story. You have to do it._'

I sigh. "Okay, okay. I'll get there soon."

Bella doesn't protest when I ask her to let me drive her home. She rests her head on the window, eyes closed. She looks sad. I reach out and take her hand in mine, hoping she'll talk to me, but she doesn't.

When I park in front of her apartment building, she finally speaks.

"Don't you ever think you could be so much better off?"

I take a deep breath. "This again? I thought we were past this, sweetheart."

"I know. I just…never mind. Goodnight."

"No, wait." I grab her hand again. "Tell me."

"You're getting late."

"Come here." I sit forward and awkwardly hug her in the confined space. "Talk to me."

She sighs into my shoulder. "Jasper was right, you know."

"Bella."

"He was. I'm nothing, Edward. _Nobody_. You have a life that is respectable and you are _somebody_. What are you going to tell your family, huh? By tomorrow, Jasper will tell everyone who I am…was. Do you even understand how disappointed in you they will be? I don't know your family or how they'll react but…shit, Edward, you have a _daughter_. What will you tell her?"

I can tell how upset she is by the tears in her voice.

"Listen to me. To be honest, I don't know what is going to happen now. And I have been a chicken through and through to not have told my family about your… past profession. But you know what? They just need to know you. Because _I _got to know you and I saw that you're so much more than that. They'll see it too. They will. They have to."

"But what if they don't?"

"Then it's you and me, against the world. And that's okay too. Because I love you, and I'm not ashamed of who you are. Because I love you and someday my family will have to love you too."

"But –"

I kiss her to stop her words. Her insecurity breaks my heart. Her hurt breaks my heart. The hand life dealt her breaks my heart. Her broken heart breaks my heart.

But I also believe that hearts can be mended. Ours will be too. Someday.

* * *

**A/N: Someone nominated Flames in the Best Edward/Bella category of the Emerging Swans Awards. I don't know who you are, but I love you. Thank you.**

**It would totally make my day if you voted for it :) Voting ends in 3 days. Link is on my profile!**

**I am on twitter, where I mostly fangirl over Rob and Kristen and all things Twilight and also whine about my RL troubles. – RoseMasenCullen**

**Review = Teaser.**


	18. Chapter 17

**A/N: Good news: I have the entire week off. Bad news: It's prep leave for mid–semester exams. Hence my last week from hell. Boooo! But I should be able to post another chapter before 15****th****. I think.**

**Also, remember when I said that I'll wrap this up in 20 chapters? Yeah…that's not going to happen. Oops.**

* * *

**Chapter 17**

* * *

_I remember when I was a little kid I had an odd fascination with birds. The tinier, the better. A bird made a nest in our backyard, and when the eggs hatched, I would pick up the tiny baby–birds in my hand and lift them one by one, as high as my tiny arms would go. Then I would run around screaming 'They're flyyyiiiiiiiing!'_

_Except they weren't. Except it was a lie. Except when I would let them go, they would fall flat to the floor. This was when my Mom intervened. She told me how even though my intentions were good, I was causing harm. How even though I _thought _I was helping them, I was making it worse._

_How sometimes I needed to let them do this on their own. Fall and crash. Get up and try to fly again._

_It didn't stop me from _wanting _to make things better, though._

* * *

I sit on my couch and stare at the TV screen. I don't know what's on. I'm too busy fingering the tattered arm of this thing. I can see the couch cover is torn – worn and old, tattered and useless. Damaged and unrepairable. Quite like me.

I've sat here all day, utterly unproductive and lost in my own head. I haven't eaten anything again. Edward will not like that. He will also not like what I have to say. What I've thought about over and over ever since last night, after hearing Jasper's words. I didn't sleep. I hope Edward did. He had work today. He couldn't afford to call in sick like I did. He couldn't afford to be unproductive. His day is worth a lot more than mine is.

His life is worth a lot more.

I get up and go to the kitchen, filling a glass of water and gulping it in one go, hoping it will help to undo the knot in my stomach. Hoping it will loosen the constriction in my throat. Hoping it will wash away doubt.

But when was life ever that easy?

I clean the kitchen while I wait for Edward to get here, and when there is a knock on the door, followed by a faint "Bella?" and the sound of keys, I know he's here.

I know that this is it.

"I thought you were asleep," he says softly as soon as he sees me standing in the kitchen. "You didn't open the door."

"You barely gave me the time to!"

He smiles and places a bag on the kitchen counter, then leans over it to kiss me. "I'm impatient."

I smile against his lips and simply climb on the counter, twisting till I am flush with him and my legs are around his waist. I take his face in my hands. "Then so am I."

And I kiss him properly, taking him by delighted surprise. I can feel his lips curving upwards, before he forces himself to not smile, and pouts to kiss me some more.

"What's with that bag?" I ask when we finally part to breathe.

"Oh. That. Um, you didn't have any groceries, so I thought I should save you the trouble. It's not much and I had to go buy some anyway, so… Some fruits too, since you don't like to cook much. I thought you could at least snack on that." He rubs a hand across his neck, clearly expecting me to create a scene.

I do want to. But I don't. I can't. Guilt is choking all the words I want to say. So I just hug him instead.

"Thank you," I say quietly into his shoulder.

"You're welcome." I can hear the surprise. I can even hear the smile.

"Edward?" I say after a moment.

"Hmm?"

"I've been thinking."

His body stiffens, though his hand never stops the rhythmic pattern of stroking my hair. "About what?"

I press my face further into his shirt collar. "Last night."

He sighs. "Well?"

"What we said in the car… I've been thinking more and more and the more I think, the more I'm convinced I'm right."

He sighs again, this time frustration evident in his tone. "Haven't we gone over this already?"

"Edward, you're not understanding –"

"There _is_ nothing to understand. It just is what it is. You and me, against the world."

I'm losing patience. "It's easy to _say_ that."

He's losing it too. "It would be easy to do it, too, if you cooperated with me a little."

"Look, you can't always hide behind impractical counter–arguments. Just listen to me –"

"No. We are not having this discussion, Bella. I know where you're taking this, and _no._"

"Edward, you have to face it!"

"Face _what_?" His voice is loud, incredulous.

"That you'll be better off without me. That what we have is at best a beautiful dream but in reality, a nightmare."

"You really think so?" his whispers, his voice losing all fight suddenly. "This is a nightmare to you?" His face crumples in pain and I hate myself for this.

"Not to me, but…to the world. The moment our eyes open to a new morning, reality creeps in. Every dream shatters. Just like us. We'll shatter, Edward. We will."

"So that's it. You're going to stand here and tear our relationship to pieces and ask me to leave. This is all I am to you? An inconvenience you can so easily get rid of? A nightmare." His voice is still low but scathing. "Fine. You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you and your sorry excuses. You could just say you never loved me and be done with it."

My eyes widen. "No! Of course I love you!"

"Bullshit, Bella. Bullshit."

"I am not questioning your feelings for me, Edward and I won't let you question mine! I love you. I do. From the core of my being. You are everything to me."

"Then why? Why are you so reluctant to fight for us? Why are you so…so…willing to back down?"

"I'm not backing down! I am just thinking from my head and not my heart. I'm allowing myself to make a rational decision. Do you not understand the consequences of this? Of us. Don't you see? Your parents will think that I'm a gold–digger, the society will ridicule you, your own daughter will be ashamed of her family – assuming Tanya even lets you have Sophie's custody once Jasper tells her who I am. Your business will suffer once Tanya's Dad withdraws his support. Everything will fall apart. Life as you know it will be lying at your feet in pieces and all you'll have to show for it will be an almost broke ex–whore with an estranged father and nothing but a bad reputation to her name. Why would you do that to yourself, Edward? Why? !"

I'm kind of crying by this point. He's kind of teary eyed too.

"Because I love you," he says softly, sincerely. "I love you with everything I am. I love you enough to fight for us. I love you enough to protect what we have. To keep it safe here," he places my hand on his heart and covers it with his own, "and not let society taint it with its judgments. You ask why? Why the hell _not_? Why can't we be selfish for once? Why can't we take what's ours and not let anyone snatch it from us because of a few bad choices in the past? Why not face them head on, show them that they don't matter, and start anew? We'll move cross–country if we have to!"

"Edward…all of this sounds wonderful in romantic novels, but this doesn't happen in reality!" I am losing patience again. "Why can't you see? What will you do? Shut down your company and work as a clerk somewhere? Uproot Sophie from the life she knows and take her to a strange place with stranger people? How will you even convince the jury that Sophie is better off with you than Tanya, as long as you have me? The only solution is for me to…for us to…to…" I force words past the lump in my throat. "To let go. Take a step back. Put family first."

He looks at me with accusing eyes. "That easy, is it now? That easy for you to say that we should move on and let go. That easy for you to see what you see as the more practical decision."

His voice is laced with hurt. I move my hands to either side of his face.

"Don't look at me like that," I say. "Don't look at me like you believe I don't care about us enough. Like I don't love you. That's not fair!" I sob. "You know I do."

"You have a really funny way of showing it."

"How can you say that? After everything we've been through –"

"What? After everything… _what_ everything? Why am I always the one to take a chance on us? Why am I always the only one to believe in us?"

"I believe in us too, okay? I just –"

"You're scared. You're always scared. You're always, and I mean _always_ pushing me away. You're always treating me like I'm some stranger just taking pity on you. You're always convincing yourself that I'm not doing this for you. When you don't have money, you'd rather go hungry than ask me for some, because you don't want to inconvenience me. Because you're so adamant on believing that I don't care for you enough to want to provide for you. How can I? No one ever did. Why would _I_?When I almost beat the shit out of my brother–in–law, it's not because I was enraged that he said disgusting things about you. No. It's because he questioned _my_ morals. That's what you've always thought, Bella. That's your defense mechanism. And I get it. I do. I get that you've been hurt too much. That you're scared to let someone in again. To trust again. To let your walls down and let go. Because everyone you love ends up leaving. So you're going to, what, save yourself that heartbreak and do it yourself? You're going to hurt me, rather than waiting for the time when I end up hurting you? Well, you know what? Just face it – I won't let you."

He moves my hands from his face to fold my arms around my middle like a straightjacket. And he puts his arms around me and holds me so tight. As if his words would have more impact if his arms were searing them on to my skin. His breathing is harsh. I can feel it in my hair._ I_ can't even form a word. My voice has abandoned me. All I know is that there are tears. So many of them. Soaking his shirt. Wetness in my hair as his eyes betray him too. Pain crumpling his shirt between my fists. And under all of that is the realization that he can read me as clearly as if my mind, my heart were spelled out to him in poetry he has recited a thousand times. He can tell me that I don't let him in, but the truth is, he's already running in my veins. Already giving me life. He just doesn't see it. Because I don't let him see it. Because it terrifies me. Because my stupid fears will not let him know how easily he can crumble my heart to dust. How he has all the power to.

"I'm sorry," is all I can hiccough out.

"Why? Because you're selfish? Because you can't see past you? Your feelings, your hurt, your past, your pain, your ego, your hunger, yours yours yours. I am nowhere in that equation, am I?"

"That's not true, Edward. I swear." I want to shout it, but it comes out as just a heartbroken whisper.

"Then why can't you see me? Why can't you see that maybe I love you far too much to let you go, even if it were the right thing – which it's not? That I need you. I _need_ you, Bella. You can be the bigger person or whatever you think you're being by telling me we'd be better off without each other, but I don't know what you're trying to prove. You're only hurting me. Us."

"I'm sorry," I sob. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." All other words are meaningless right now.

"Then you're either with me, or not. For better or worse. Decide. I'm tired of this back and forth shit. I have feelings too and there are only so many times I can let you trample allover them." I hate the bitterness in his voice.

I pull him closer, if such a thing were possible. I tilt my head up to kiss his neck. I pull myself up straight and kiss his chin. My hand rubs the bitterness off of his strained jaw. "I'm with you," I say against his tears. "I'm sorry," my thumb says under his eyes. "I love you," my nose says, brushing against his. "I love you," my lips kiss on his. "I love you, I love you, I love you and I will never leave you."

And these words matter.

Maybe with time he'll believe me.

* * *

**A/N: You know it needed to be said. Boy had to snap **_**sometime**_**.**

**Reviews are love. If you love me, I love you back with a teaser.**


	19. Chapter 18

**A/N: Hi, all the new readers! :)**

**Exams sucked. So I was too upset to write. And now I've been sick and in bed for three days. Do not like. BD promo is my silver lining.**

* * *

**Chapter 18**

* * *

_When I was in High School, our English teacher made us write a quote in all our textbooks. She didn't know who said it, but it was what he had said that mattered. Still matters._

'_When you come to the edge of all the light, and you know you are about to step off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of the two things will happen – either there will be something solid to stand on, or you'll be taught how to fly.'_

_I always wondered why that quote never talked about falling. What if you were meant to fall, despite the faith?_

_And now I realize that before this, I never knew what faith meant._

_Faith is in knowing that even if I'll fall, Edward will be there to help me stand up again._

* * *

I take a deep breath and look up into the mirror. I don't do it often. It reminds me of being in that room in the club. It reminds me of trading stripper heels for thigh high boots. It reminds me of overheated confined spaces that smell of booze, smoke and sex. It reminds me of putting layers and layers of make–up till I didn't recognize myself anymore. It reminds me of pretenses.

But now my face is bare. I feel naked.

Maria runs the straightener through my hair slowly. There isn't a heater here so the heat radiating from it feels nice on my face. It calms me a little.

I look up to see her reflection grinning down at mine.

"What?"

"What 'what'?"

"Why are you smiling at me?"

"Because you're taking such big steps in your life and I am proud of you."

My expression softens. "Thank you. You've been a great friend. And uh, thanks for doing this as well."

She shakes her head dismissively. "Oh please. It's nothing."

I smooth my hands down the powder blue dress she lent me for the evening. "This is really pretty."

"Well, you did say he liked you best in blue." She winks.

I sigh. She pulls the straightener one last time and then places it back on the counter. She leans against the mirror and takes out two shades of lipstick from the drawer. "This or this?"

I shrug. "Whichever is less slutty?"

She sighs and looks at me seriously. "Honey, you need to drop this scared–cat face. It's going to be fine!" she insists.

"I know."

"Then stop looking like you're two seconds away from throwing up."

"Maybe I am."

"Bella. Stop it. Tonight's going to be great."

"And if I screw up, I'm going to ruin everything."

"You need to stay positive and focus on the good part."

"Which is?"

"That Edward is a lovely guy who loves you so much. That he wants to declare his love for you to probably the most important people in his life. You're doing this for him. And you _can _do this. He wouldn't put you through it if he thought it's going to blow. I mean, you're only about to have dinner with your potential future in-laws. How bad can it be?"

* * *

A few minutes later, I'm standing out on the street as Edward's car pulls up. "Hey," he says, surprise coloring his tone.

"Hi," I say, closing the car door and putting on my seatbelt.

He doesn't start the car. He just stares. I squirm in my seat. "What?"

He shakes his head, as if to clear it. "You have your hair up."

My brows furrow. "Huh?"

"I just…I'm so used to seeing it hang loose over your shoulders."

My hand involuntarily reaches up to my ponytail. "Too weird? It was Maria's idea. The hair–tie is giving me a headache already, though. I'm so not used to it."

He smiles a little. "Why did you make it, then?"

I feel my face heating up. "I don't know…I just…I…I should probably undo it. You're right. It does look kind of stupid."

Unlike me, he's casually dressed. Un-tucked white shirt with slacks, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, top button undone and hair allover the place.

He reaches over and takes both my hands in his, leaning in to kiss me. "I didn't say it was stupid," he whispers against my lips. "I just wondered why you felt the need to be uncomfortable all evening."

I shrug, blushing harder. "I wanted to look nice." _This is embarrassing._ "Decent." I take a deep breath. "That's why I had to borrow the dress. This is Maria's Sunday best." I wring my hands. "The dresses I have are too...slutty. I wish I had some decent shoes too. Maria's didn't fit me. I had to put on these stupid slip-ons and I know I look fucking ridiculous but I tried, ok? Can we go now?"

His face is a mixture of concern and sadness. I don't even know. So I look away from his piercing eyes, hoping he'd let it go.

"If I had any idea you were so concerned about looking like…this," he gestures at my attire, "I'd have taken you shopping or something. That's not to say that you don't look good now. You look utterly breathtaking, I swear. I just didn't know this was so important to you."

"Don't be silly. Why would you have to buy me a dress? I don't even like wearing dresses. You know that."

He opens his mouth to say something else, but snaps it shut just as quickly. I sigh. "We're getting late, Edward."

He starts the car.

––x––

The drive is spent in silence, except for whatever plays on the radio. Edward hums along a few tunes, and his relaxed, happy stance almost calms me.

Almost.

I remove invisible lint from my dress for what feels like the hundredth time when we finally pull up in the Cullens' driveway. Framed by trees and more trees, the entire driveway leading up to the house is something straight out of a postcard. It's so beautiful and huge and just as picture perfect as I knew it would be.

We start walking towards the house, and I find myself trying to picture a young Edward here, even though I know he lived somewhere else when he was little. It's just a place where he would…fit. The serenity, the peace, the beauty…all of it would complement him.

"What are you smiling about?" he asks me as he takes my hand.

"Just wondering if you grew up in a house like this."

"Nah. We had an apartment back then. My parents liked to travel a lot. It was more convenient."

"Oh. This house looks beautiful."

"Wait till you see the interior," he grins. "Mom went overboard."

My heart skips a beat as soon as he says it. We are mere feet away from the porch. All the anxiety I was trying to suppress comes back head on, forcing me to acknowledge it. I take a deep breath.

"Bella?"

"Hmm?"

He stops walking suddenly, so my hand in his tugs me back. "What?" I ask as I turn to face him.

"You don't have to do this."

"Backing out already?" I tease him, giving a small smile.

He steps closer and frames my face in his hands. I lean into his warm touch and sigh.

"All this…this dress and the hair and the makeup…and that stupid little clutch that can hold nothing…it's not who you are."

I close my eyes. "I just…I want them to like me."

"They will. They already do."

My eyes open. "No they don't. They can't. You told them what I did for a living before."

"I also told them that that doesn't define who you are as a person. And I want them to see that person. If I – or they – wanted a Barbie, Tanya would be the one standing here. Not you."

He reaches up and takes out my hair tie, putting it in his pocket and slightly messing up my hair while I stand there immobile. "I want them to know the woman I love. Not the woman you _think_ they would love, because that's not who they would love." His brows furrow. "That didn't make sense, did it?"

I smile and swallow the lump in my throat. "No, it didn't. But I get the point."

"Then just be yourself. And if at any point you feel like you don't want to be here, let me know and we'll leave. No questions asked. Okay?"

"Okay. And stop worrying so much. Your hair will be grey before you know it."

He leans down and gives me a tiny peck, but I pull him closer by the lapels of his jacket, burrowing into his warmth. Dresses are very impractical for weather like this.

His hands move down my arms and rest on my lower back, and he kisses me with abandon. His tongue traces my lower lip and I just about forget my name.

"I love you," I say breathlessly when we break and he responds by moving his hands even lower and burying his face in my neck. My fingers twine in his hair, and I thrill at the feel of his rushing heartbeat against mine.

We're so lost in each other that we don't even hear the front door open.

"Do you two plan on coming inside anytime soon or should I just bring out the picnic tables?"

We break away like two teenagers caught making out outside the Principal's office. Without turning around to see who it is, I simply bury my flushed face in Edward's shoulder, embarrassed beyond belief. This is not how I wanted the evening to start.

"We'll be right in, Mom," Edward tells her, still holding me tightly.

"Wipe off that lipstick before you get in," she tells him before shutting the door.

I do hear the smile in her voice.

"Well," Edward finally says, "that was unexpected."

I look up at his boyish grin. "And awkward."

He lets me go so he can wipe his face. We make each other as presentable as we can, and finally enter the house. I am immediately taken aback by how different it is from what I expected. There is a golden hue to everything because of the numerous lamps. The kitchen, instead of being bare and flawless, is actually rather messy. The walls are littered with not only art pieces, but also by random drawings that I presume must have been made (and stuck, judging by the haphazard tapes) by Sophie. Near the staircase, there is a huge pin-board with lots of family pictures attached. I am drawn to it immediately, so I let Edward's hand go and walk to it. There are so many pictures that I could practically trace Edward's entire life through this. Edward winning prizes, young Edward and his sister at the beach throwing handfuls of sand at each other, proms, graduations, birthdays, their many vacations… and I am so distracted by all these perfect memories that I don't even notice his mother standing behind me till she clears her throat and startles me.

"Pretty fascinating, huh?"

I look at her kind eyes and can only nod in response.

She holds out a hand for me to shake, like this is some formal meeting. "It's really nice to meet you, Bella. Edward doesn't shut up about you."

I smile and shake hands with her. "It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Cullen. You have a lovely house. And I don't mean that as in an obligatory-conventionally-polite 'Oh your house is lovely, ma'am,' manner, but I'm genuinely impressed. Because I know a lot of people who give compliments for the hell of it, but –"

"I get it, Bella," she gently laughs.

My cheeks burn again. _Stop with the word–vomit, dammit!_ "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

"Thank you, by the way. I am an interior designer and this is all my own doing, so it's always so nice to hear that." Her smile lights up her entire face.

"Where did Edward go?"

"He and his dad are setting up the table. That's how it has always been here. I cook, they serve. Come on, you must be hungry."

She starts walking towards the only other room on this floor, from where I can hear male voices and clinking cutlery.

"Oh and Bella?" She whirls around.

"Yes?"

"You really are just as beautiful as Edward said you were."

My smile just about splits my face in two, but is just as quickly wiped off when we enter and I meet the cold, judging eyes of Mr. Cullen.

* * *

**A/N: Flames won Best ExB WIP in the Emerging Swan Awards. Thanks for voting :)**

**This fic is also up for Fic of the Week at The Lemonade Stand, thanks to the lovely edmazing. It has a snowball's chance in hell of making the top 5 (like, duh, just take a look at **_**that**_** list O_O) so I won't ask you to vote for it, but please do vote for your favorites! You might end up making someone's day :) Link is on the top of my profile; voting ends tomorrow.**

**Special thanks to cejsmom...for everything. ILY.**

**Next chapter will be up tomorrow (I had to split this in two parts), so no teaser this time.**


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

* * *

_Truth is bitter. Truth is a curse. Truth is poison disguised as nectar and truth is the footprints on your heart. Truth is the drink life forces you to drink and it's the worst motherfucking hangover._

* * *

The Cullens like to say grace before they eat. It's awkward for me to just sit there and not even know how to do this. It's more awkward that I don't want to. I kind of just want to crawl inside a hole and stay there till this storm passes.

Carlisle Cullen hasn't said a word to me. He gave me a polite nod and walked off once Edward did the obligatory introductions, and I awkwardly pulled back my empty outstretched hand. Edward sighed and kissed the top of my head in apology.

Ever since then, dinner has been served, drinks have been poured, and forced laughter has made its way in the air thanks to Esme Cullen and her strange way of carrying on a one–sided conversation.

I don't miss how Mr. Cullen casually throws in a snide remark or two about morals here and there, even when we are discussing something as lame as a TV show. It makes it a little harder to swallow down my food, but I do it. I keep reminding myself that this is important to Edward.

Edward, who is visibly tense and going to bend his fork if he grips it any tighter.

I place my free hand on his leg, just barely moving my fingertips. He looks at me and gives me a small smile, almost apologetic. I shake my head; he has no reason to be sorry.

It just is how it is.

"So Bella, how are your parents?" Esme asks, again trying to start a conversation. Too bad it's the last thing I want to talk about.

Edward stops chewing.

"My Dad retired – a while back," I say quickly, hoping that'll be the end of it.

"And your mother, Renée?"

"You remember her name."

She smiles. "We were friends. Kind of."

"She…" I take a deep breath. "She passed away."

Her eyes widen. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry. I had no idea." She gives a questioning glance to Edward, who just shrugs.

I shrug too.

"What happened to her, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Cardiac arrest. I was sixteen."

"Oh, sweetheart, that is awful."

"Figures," Mr. Cullen mumbles under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

Edward chimes in, his expression that of supreme annoyance. "No, Dad, what? Just blurt it out. Dinner is already going downhill so might as well."

I put a hand on his but look at Carlisle Cullen. "If you have anything to say to me, Mr. Cullen, then let's just get it out of the way right now, please."

He takes a deep breath and looks directly at me. "Statistically speaking, most women who end up on the streets prostituting themselves usually come from a family where one or both parents have died before the child is an adult."

"Carlisle, that's an awful thing to say!"

"It's a fact, Esme. No more, no less. Just another statistic."

Edward wipes his hand on a napkin and throws it on the table. "I think we're done here."

"No we're not," I tell him, because fuck it if I at least don't get to say my piece. I look at Mr. Cullen again. "I may be no more or no less than a statistic to you, Mr. Cullen, but I actually made an effort to go out of my comfort zone and do this –" I wave a hand towards the table "– for someone I love. And while I get why you don't like me, I think Edward would at least appreciate if you could make an effort too."

"An effort for what? You know, to be honest with you, whatever I had heard about you before I knew of your profession –"

"– past profession," Edward cuts in.

"…all of it actually had me convinced that you were a good person. But tell me, Bella, why would someone like you – someone who was once a good student and had a perfectly normal life – allow circumstances to manipulate her in such a way?"

"You don't _know_ things about my life. You're making assumptions. You're stereotyping me." I hate that I sound like a petulant child being chided.

"Give me one good reason not to, Bella. Everything I know makes you the gold–digger cliché. Enlighten me. Is your father proud of what you've become?"

I visibly flinch.

"Dad, that's not fair," Edward grits out between clenched teeth.

"I think she's capable of defending herself, Edward. Tell me, Bella, how convenient is it to find a very rich client, make him fall in love with you, quit your life full of sin and get a bed of roses to lay on for the rest of your life?"

"Carlisle, you are way out of line –"

"_Make_ me fall for her? Dad, I'm capable of making my own decisions –"

"Look, you guys. Stop." I take a deep breath again. _Hold it together, don't fall apart, don't let him break you._ "I wish I could say something…_anything_ to shake you out of your prejudices, Mr. Cullen. For what it's worth, I don't intend to lie on a 'bed of roses' for the rest of my life. I'm assuming Edward told you that I want to get a proper education, and he wasn't kidding. I do. I have applied to the local university."

"And let me guess. My Samaritan son is going to pay the tuition."

I clench my jaw. I swallow down the lump in my throat. "No. I have some money saved. And there are scholarships, student loans, part time jobs…"

He barks out a bitter laugh. "Scholarships are given to exceptional students with outstanding grades. Even many _deserving_ students don't get them, leave alone you. They are not a joke. Student loans are provided to people who have a credible background. Everything about your life is shady. And God help you with a part time job when the only thing you're good at is selling yourself."

"Dad!"

"Alright, Carlisle, that's enough!" Esme's face is twisted in fury.

Oh, but Carlisle Cullen goes on. "Let me tell you something, Bella Swan. You don't fool me. My son is naïve, but I'm not. At the end of the day, you two are not the only ones affected by your relationship. Take your rose–tinted glasses off and understand that you are manipulating a man with a little daughter. You're also affecting her life."

"With all due respect, Mr. Cullen, I am _not_ manipulating anyone. I love your son. Not his money."

"Then prove it. Considering how head over heels my son has fallen for you, there is nothing I would like more, Bella. Prove me wrong."

And with that, he gets up and walks off to another small room, slamming the door behind him.

Edward gets up too. "I need to talk to him. I won't be long." But before going, he bends down and kisses my cheek. "I'm so sorry," he whispers.

And I want to tell him he doesn't have to be. I want to tell him it's okay.

But it's not. I feel like someone has slapped me. I want to run from here before I throw up everything I've forced myself to eat, but I can't seem to move.

Frozen like a statue; imbecile and immobile and utterly fucking powerless. I feel like my life has been summed up in this one moment.

"Come on, Bella, let me show you the rest of the house," Esme says in that gentle tone moms use with kids who wake up from nightmares.

_Are you fucking serious right now? _I want to shout at her.

"Okay," is what I whisper.

* * *

This is a huge house. And by that I mean it–just–does–not–end huge. The corridors are long, there are way more rooms than these two people need, the backyard stretches into more and more trees than I can see past, and Esme's constant chatter about where she got which artifact from is somehow making this a longer ordeal.

I appreciate her attempt to distract me, but all I want right now is to hide myself in Edward's arms.

We finally stop at Edward's old bedroom. I sit on the bed with Esme and look at the framed photo on the bedside table – that of Edward with baby Sophie in his arms. He looks so happy. I almost smile. There's another photo where Edward has an arm around a girl I've never seen before. The picture is definitely from her graduation, but she is so tiny, she barely looks a like high school student.

"That's Alice," Esme says. "Edward's little sister."

"Oh. Where is she now?"

"Abroad for further studies. She's researching for her PhD."

I put the frame back. I feel like I'm disgracing these people just by touching their stuff. I'm too small in this huge house.

The walls of this room are still adorned with Edward's school medals and certificates, and diplomas and graduation caps. It's as if he still lives here.

"I don't believe in packing away memories," Esme tells me when I ask her about it. "What's the point if you can't relive them every now and again and see how far you've come?"

"Sometimes memories are painful, Mrs. Cullen."

"You know what that means, don't you?"

I shake my head.

"It means it's time to make new memories. Happy memories."

"I'm trying to. And failing. Always failing"

"Oh sweetie, no. Failure is not permanent. Failure is human."

"How do you do it?"

"What?"

"Stay this positive, happy person all the time."

She shrugs. "Accept failure. Work hard to make sure it doesn't happen again. Hope that things will get better. And appreciate every happy moment you get."

"You sound like my mom."

Her voice becomes softer. "Your mom was a wonderful person, you know. We weren't very close, but you know how small towns are. I used to run into her from time to time. You're all she used to talk about."

And just like that I start to cry. I cover my face with my hands and weep like a little girl. I feel tired and drained and alone and I hurt everywhere and I want my mom. I miss my mom.

"She must be so ashamed of me," I say.

"I don't believe that." Esme puts an arm around me, and although any other time I would cringe away, I let her hug me. In fact, I hug her back and cry on her shoulder.

"How can you be sure?" I hiccough.

"Because you're not a bad person. You haven't caused anyone harm. You were just a victim of circumstance."

I shake my head. "That's not true. I chose to be…this."

"Because you couldn't choose to be anything else."

"But you heard what Mr. Cullen said –"

She sighs. "Listen to me, Bella. My husband… He _is_ a good man. I am so sorry for whatever words were said tonight. No one deserves to be treated like the way you were. But you have to understand…Carlisle…he has very clearly defined ideas about everything. He's rigid in his opinions. I don't know if Edward told you, but Carlisle was once very poor. He is a self-made man. He has faced foster homes and scholarship rejections and disappointments and more failures than you can imagine. And that has made him very cynical about everything in life. But he has firm faith that if you keep on working, you can achieve something; because _he _achieved it. He made it happen. And the way he looks at it, he thinks you gave up. You took the easy way out."

I look at her incredulously. "You think it was easy? To strip myself of all dignity and touch the lowest of lows?"

"No, sweetheart. But he does. And that's where he's wrong. From the moment Edward revealed your past, I knew this wasn't going to be easy for any of us, but I swear to you, I had no idea things would escalate so out of control."

"I am not that person," I whisper, more tears filling my eyes. "The kind of person he thinks I am? I am not that. I don't want Edward's money. I just love him – is that so bad? Can't I love someone without being judged for it? Don't I deserve to be loved back without everyone shaming it?"

Tears fill her eyes, too. "Of course you do. And for the record, I think deep down even Carlisle knows that. He's only looking out for his son. He'll come around. I promise you."

"I wouldn't count on that."

But it's not me who says it. We turn to see Edward leaning against the bedroom door, looking a little angry, and mostly sad. "Come here," he says to me, holding out his arms.

And I get up and run straight into them, not caring that I'm creating a scene in front of his mom.

I breathe deeply, trying so hard not to cry out loud as he holds me tight.

"We're calling it a night," he announces in a detached voice.

"Edward, I'm sorry about –"

"Don't mention it, Mom. It wasn't your fault."

He kisses the top of my head and takes my hand, and without another word we walk out of the room and the long corridors and the huge staircase…back into our – my – smallness.

* * *

**A/N: There is **_**even more**_** to this chapter but I figured I'd just get this update out now.**

**Dear whoever is recommending this fic wherever, you are doing a **_**great**_** job and I love you! My inbox exploded with alerts! O_O Thanks.**

**Also thanks to cejsmom for beta'íng, and Agustina for talking me off the ledge. ;)**

**I also received the sweetest PMs and got totally teary eyed too. Sometimes this fandom is too kind :')**

**The Lemonade Stand had technical difficulties so they had to restart their poll. You'll have to cast your vote again. Link is still on my profile.**

**Review = teaser.**

**This A/N is too long. -_- See you next weekend.**


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

* * *

_Sometimes your silence has more profundity than all my words combined. Sometimes your simplest touch – an arm over my shoulder, a peck on my temple, when you breathe against my cheek – is more powerful than all verbal assurances._

* * *

I watch Edward neatly slice the pie his mother gave us while we were leaving. _But you didn't even get to enjoy the dessert,_ she said, and handed it to me. I couldn't _not_ hug her in gratitude.

"Your mom's so nice," I say, and Edward looks up like he has snapped out of some chain of thought.

"Yeah, she is."

"Your house is nice, too."

And it is. It's not as big as his parents', but it's just as beautiful. It lacks bright colors, though. Everything is painted a pastel shade. It's hard to miss all the drawings stuck on these walls, too. His daughter _really_ loves sketching, apparently.

"It's all she does," he tells me with a roll of his eyes as he moves about in the kitchen. But his eyes shine with that pride that only fathers can have. "I keep trying to get her to do something else – you know, broaden horizons or something – but she hates dancing, or music, or playing outside with her friends. She just wants a new sketch book every month or so."

"That's not a bad thing – she's talented! Where do you put all these drawings, though? There are only so many walls," I chuckle.

"Once she gets tired of looking at them, she takes them off and throws them in the trash, putting on new ones on the walls instead." He places a plate in my hands. "And then once she's asleep, I go out and retrieve them and put them in a scrapbook."

And I fall for him a little bit more.

"That's just the sweetest thing," I whisper as he hops up on the counter beside me.

"It won't be very sweet when I gift her a thousand scrapbooks on her sixteenth birthday," he jokes.

I raise a brow. "Let me guess – in front of her date?"

"Fuck, no. She's never dating. I prohibit it."

I grin and kiss his cheek.

"I would love to meet her," I tell him, feeling shy about saying that, stupidly enough.

"Believe me, I would love that, too. Soon. Too bad she's with Tanya today; you could've met her now."

I shake my head. "Nah, the Meet the Parents ordeal is enough for one day."

His smile falls and he puts an arm around my shoulders. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Edward, it's not your fault," I say for what seems like the hundredth time.

"But I still wish there was some way I could make it up to you."

I pick up my fork and stab the pie. "What did your dad say?"

"He's being a jerk. Don't… Just forget about it."

My stomach sinks and I look down. How bad is it that he doesn't want to tell me?

He shifts so he is facing me, and puts a finger under my chin and makes me look at him. "Hey. It doesn't matter what he says."

"Yes, it does," I sigh. "We both know it does."

He sighs too and rests his forehead against mine. "I told him that he acted like an asshole. That he should've talked to me if he had a problem with us. That his approval meant something to me and that he hurt not only you, but also me. That his blatant lack of respect for my girlfriend went against everything he taught me."

"You've never called me your girlfriend before, you know that?" I blurt out.

He's a little taken aback. "Isn't that what you are?"

"Yeah, I guess. It just caught me off guard. Anyway, so what was his response?"

He lets out a breath. "He said he was sorry, but I told him that he was apologizing to the wrong person." His jaw tightens. "But he was only sorry that my mood was ruined. Not yours. Like I said – a jerk."

"Esme told me about him, you know…she told me how he thinks I'm a failure for not giving everything my all; for taking bad decisions."

"None of it – I swear, _nothing_ – justifies what he said. I hope he gets an earful from mom."

I smile slightly, because I can actually imagine that scene.

We continue talking about other random stuff as we eat, making it a point not to discuss the dinner at all.

It's only when we're about to go upstairs that I notice the farthest wall is actually made of glass and I can see the entire backyard.

I turn around and look at Edward with wide eyes. "You have a swimming pool?"

"So?"

"In your house."

He chuckles. "In the backyard."

I grin. "This must be so much fun."

"It takes very little to make you happy," he says softly, looking at me like I'm confusing him.

"That's not little. That's a fucking swimming pool."

"It's such a small one. Sophie wanted it. It's no big deal." He sighs and kisses my forehead. Then he pulls back to look at my face carefully. "You wanna go for a swim?"

I try to curb my inner child. I shake my head. "I don't even know how to."

"I'll teach you, and the shallow end is actually _really_ shallow."

"But right now? It's really late."

He smiles and pushes my hair behind my ear. "Come on, I know that excited look on your face. It'll help us unwind. It's been a long day."

* * *

Five minutes later, I'm sitting on the edge of the pool, my feet dipped in the water, while I watch Edward show off his swimming skills and roll my eyes at his antics.

"Stop rolling your eyes and get in."

But I'm a chicken. "Nah, I'm good. I'm enjoying the show." Each flex of his muscles, each water droplet in his hair and sliding down his back when he comes up for air…

Yeah, I'm enjoying the show, alright.

"Well, _I'm_ not. You didn't even take your dress off." Saying that, he splashes a little water towards me, and I let out a small squeal. The front of my dress is all wet. "See? Now you have to take it off."

I have the strongest urge to kiss that boyish grin senseless.

"You're crazy."

He pouts. "I'm lonely in here."

He comes up to where I'm sitting and grasps my ankles under the water.

"Edward…" I warn, and shriek as I am suddenly pulled into the water, with his arm holding my waist. My head is under water only for a second or so, but I cough and splutter as I come up for air, grabbing his shoulders like my life depends on it. It does.

He laughs and holds me tighter, using his other hand to move my hair from my face.

"Stop laughing! I could've drowned."

"No, you wouldn't have. I've got you." He sighs and rests his forehead against mine. "I've got you," he whispers again, suddenly serious. "I know," I whisper back. We stay in this moment for a while, just content in breathing.

I lean in and run my nose across his jaw and kiss his neck, planting a trail of kisses from his shoulder to his chin. He moves his head so I'm kissing his lips instead, and all at once my mind is devoid of every thought except Edward. His scent, his touch, his lips, his breaths, his wet hair between my fingers.

I want him. I want him more than anyone ever wanted anyone.

His lips make their way down my neck and his hand eases a sleeve down so he can kiss my shoulder. I touch every inch of his skin I can reach and arch my neck to give him better access.

At some point he eases us back towards the steps – all the while kissing my lips, my face, my hair, my shoulders, my arms – and we carefully get out of the pool. My dress leaves a trail of water while we go inside, shivering because of the cold air. He turns out the lights and draws the curtains close, and I get rid of my dress and hang it at the back of a chair – hoping it will dry by morning.

He takes my hand and we rush upstairs, still shivering in our partial nakedness and trying not to trip because of wet feet. We make it to the room, and as soon as the door is shut I am backed against it – his still–wet body covering mine and his lips hot as fire against my own. It feels like drowning and being blessed with one last breath. It feels like I am falling into a nameless, faceless existence where all that matters is his touch. Like if he stops touching me, I might cease to exist. Like his touch is my identity and my desperation is his.

When we can't breathe anymore, we part; but only long enough to discard the rest of our clothes.

"As partial as I am to this," he says breathlessly, hands reaching behind me, tracing my skin and fingers giving me gooseflesh as he undoes my bra clasp, "it looks better on the floor."

We are one being of tangled limbs and unspoken promises; of shallow breaths and stolen kisses; of padded footsteps towards the bed and loud moans in the silence of the room.

"Hey," he says when he is hovering over me – so close, _so_ _close_, right there.

"Hey," I say back, feeling the blood rushing beneath my skin and the smile curving my lips.

"This is probably not the best time to say this, but just so you know… _she_ and I never slept in this room."

It's endearing that he doesn't say her name. I lock my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

"It wouldn't be a problem to me even if you did," I say against his lips.

"It would be to me," he says against mine.

And that is the point where our words end. Because all words fall short in the moment. Nothing else matters anymore except this. Nothing is more life giving than this.

He caresses and teases and takes and gives and gives and gives everything. He loves me tender, he loves me hard, he loves me with passion and yet as gentle as a feather. He brushes his thumbs against my temple and he cherishes me with his lips. He locks his fingers with mine and hands dragged above my head are perfection. He kisses down my chest and not once stops moving and everything in that moment is perfection.

Life can wait.

Disappointments can wait.

Bitter words and sadness and cynicism are a product of the mind.

But we are in this moment mindless and primal.

Just feeling.

Broken hearts mended by soft lips and warm breaths and curling toes.

* * *

**A/N: Um…the awesome author **_**rushed**_** recc'ed Flames at the end of her The American President update (a fic I **_**love**_**) and my inbox kinda…became a scary place. But a scary that I loved. No, really, **_**fucking loved**_**.**

**You guys blow me away with your support. Thank you.**

**Also thanks to Agustina, for being my backbone, and Packy Pie, for quoting this allover twitter and giving me all the feels and the flails.**

**Next two–three weeks are crazy. Semester ending, final exams, plus BD2 promo, movie…you get it. Way too much. I'll try my best to update…just not on schedule.**

**Review = teaser.**

**Come and say hi on twitter if you like :) – RoseMasenCullen**


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

* * *

_Dreams wouldn't be dreams if they didn't crash. Life wouldn't be life if it didn't hurt. Love wouldn't be love if it didn't break, nor had the power to heal._

_Hope keeps this alive. Hope is not a wasted breath._

* * *

I wake up with a tickling sensation at the back of my neck. My eyes open groggily, while mind tries to catch up.

Edward. He is breathing in my hair.

An involuntary, slow, goofy smile spreads across my face.

Here, in his arms, feeling all of him against my back, his breath tickling my neck and legs twined with mine…this is what happiness feels like. It's not parental approval, it's not societal acceptance. It's just this - our little bubble.

I close my eyes again, hoping I can put off the bursting of this bubble for a bit longer. It's barely light outside. I guess the time to be around five a.m., though when I crane my neck to check the clock, Edward's arm pulls me closer and makes it impossible to move. He doesn't snore, I notice.

I lie there for a few more minutes, but sleep eludes me because I'm too stiff after lying on this side for hours. My struggle to change position without waking him is a wasted effort. As soon as I move, he grunts a little, and when I look behind me, he has his brows furrowed.

I turn around fully and his eyes flutter open and closed, like a baby's.

"Blue," he slurs out before relaxing into the pillows again.

I try not to laugh. Try.

I carefully maneuver myself out from under his arm, and place my pillow where I was sleeping. He snuggles up to it instantly.

Yep. Kid.

I stretch as I sit up, and think about going downstairs to make some coffee, but his adorable pout and tousled hair are too much to resist. The comforter is bundled up against his legs and I shamelessly gawk at his nakedness.

_Mine_. By some miracle, this glorious man, who could have anyone he wanted, wants _me_ - the epitome of fucked-up-ness.

I shake my head and lean into him, kissing the back of his head. He hums in his sleep.

I kiss lower and lower - his nape, his shoulder blades, tracing his spine with open mouthed warmth that makes him moan into his pillow.

"Bella?" he mumbles as if he can't quite believe I'm real.

I move back and with a little effort turn him around, which wakes him up a bit more. He rubs a hand across his face and shields his eyes against the dim light of the breaking dawn.

I place my leg on his waist and sit up, straddling him, and placing a hand on either side of him, pepper kisses from one shoulder to another. I kiss his neck. I kiss his chin. I kiss over his heart and revel in how it gives me life too.

His sigh is just as content as mine.

I keep kissing and take my time, slowly dragging my lips down his abdomen. He has no six-pack or anything, but he still has defined muscles. He hates exercising - I totally understand _that_. The flab on my waist is proof I'm not a stripper's body anymore.

The flab on my waist is also proof of how he ensures I'm well fed. How he's that someone who gives a shit if a skip a meal and gives _me_ shit about it. How he forces me to eat an extra helping to make up for the meal I skipped.

I kiss his waist and wonder about the tiny scar there. I would ask him, but his eyes are closed and he looks asleep again and I kind of have another plan.

So I kiss lower, and lower.

And lower.

Till my mouth takes him in…and oh yeah, he's awake alright.

His body jerks forward of its own accord and his hands find my hair.

"Bella," his sleepy throat rasps out.

I double my efforts.

"Bella. Bella wha-" _Groan_.

My hand slips between his legs.

His hand _fists_ my hair.

I once told him I suck pretty well. Back when he showed up at the club for the first time. I prove it again.

His noises get louder.

His breaths come out uneven and labored.

And I know. I _know_, even if his "I-I'm-nnnfff" wasn't an indication enough.

I take it all in and hold down his legs as he lets go.

When I finally let _him_ go, he looks doped. Goofy grin matching mine and features relaxed into the most fuckable morning face ever.

Goddammit I am horny.

"Good morning," I say, and he looks at me like I'm his world. He looks at me like I would look at him for all of my existence.

His hands grab my arms and pull me against his warmth. His kiss thanks me, morning breath be damned. His hand moves up my arm to my shoulder, till his thumb rubs small circles against my pulse.

"I loved that wake-up call," he whispers against my lips. "Thank you."

Somehow, hearing him say thanks makes me blush. It makes me feel warm allover.

I bite his lower lip lightly. "Anytime."

He sighs again. "Although...now I'm so relaxed, I could sleep again."

I push back the hair from his forehead. "Go ahead. It's still early."

I cover him up with the comforter again and watch him sleep for a while, till my stomach grumbles and I have to get up.

I pick up my underwear off the floor but don't bother wearing it, instead walking to his closet and taking out an oversized t-shirt. I half expected this room to be empty, seeing how he referred to it as the 'Guest Room,' but now that I am not, uh, distracted, I notice how small things here and there define it as his. The closet, for one, is fully stocked with his clothes. A shirt is in the laundry basket. His slippers are outside the bathroom. The bedside table has his reading glasses (he looks even more fuckable when he wears them, if such a thing were possible), the book he's been reading, wallet, cell phone and car keys. I hate myself a little for invading his privacy this way, but I open the bedside drawer too, just out of curiosity.

And I find an opened pack of cigarettes on top. It…bothers me. I close the drawer and look at his sleeping form, wondering how I don't know about this. Or why he never told me.

My stomach grumbles again, forcing me to shrug this off and go down to the kitchen. While the pot of coffee brews, I pick up my dress from where I left it hanging on the back of a chair. It's still slightly wet and cold.

I hang it back up.

Bread into the toaster, coffee strong as he likes it, a couple of omelets - and I prepare a breakfast tray. It's strange to do it, because as close as Edward and I have been for so long, I still have hardly ever done it before.

Somehow my clumsy self makes it back upstairs with this tray in hand.

He's already awake, sitting up against the headboards and (unfortunately) wearing his pajamas, saying it was the smell of coffee that woke him.

I smile and hand him his.

He takes a sip, hums appreciatively, and leans over to kiss me.

"Orgasm _and_ coffee as a good morning?" he chuckles. "Marry me, woman."

I know he's joking and he knows it too. His smile stays and the fluttering in my heart makes sure so does mine.

But he pushes the tray aside and adjusts me so I'm sitting with my back against his chest, before picking his coffee up again.

With the soothing silence and smell of coffee, his left hand plays with my ring finger.

When we're done eating, we sit and bask in the sunlight streaming in from the window.

Till he kisses my neck and his hands make their way under my - his - t-shirt. The empty tray and cups are carefully placed on the floor and pajamas that never should've been worn are taken off, and last night is repeated allover again.

* * *

I'm washing the coffee mugs when the bell rings. Edward said to use the dishwasher but I don't know how to operate the damn thing. I never had enough dishes (or money) to warrant the purchase of one.

I look at my reflection in the steel tray I just washed. Wet hair wild and curling on my shoulders, lips swollen, hickey on the neck, eyes bright and happy - morning sex has that effect. I'm still wearing Edward's t-shirt, but at least have my underwear on. Still, I don't think Edward would want me to answer the door in this attire. I bite my already–chipped thumbnail, wondering what I should do. Edward is still in the shower - I can hear the water running.

Sighing, I wipe my hands and make my way to the door. Maybe I'll just open it a tiny bit and at least see who it is and take a message.

But before I'm even halfway there, the doorknob turns and a woman steps in. I don't see her face, because she's putting the house key back in her purse with her free hand, while her other arm balances a sleeping girl on her hip. If the strawberry blonde hair falling over her face wasn't a giveaway, the sleeping girl certainly is.

"Tanya," I blurt out, mentally palming my face because I have no idea what to say next.

Her eyes snap up to mine. At first her face is expressionless, but she takes in my attire and I can see her features twist in fury.

"Oh, you don't waste any time, do you?" she spits. "The moment I am out, you put your filthy claws in my _husband_."

"You two aren't together anymore," I say calmly.

"We _are_ still married. But hell, what does it matter to you? You've been sleeping with him for a while. Do you feel proud to add another broken marriage to your list of achievements?" She raises a brow and casually flings her purse so it lands on the couch behind her.

My jaw tightens. I breathe slowly. In and out. Count to ten. _Don't lose your temper._

Sophie stirs in her arms, but Tanya's hand rubs up and down her back so she doesn't wake up.

"Where the fuck is Edward?"

I open my mouth to answer but Edward does it himself. "I was in the shower," he says while coming downstairs. "And weren't you supposed to keep her for today as well?"

"I was going to but she was up at the crack of dawn. She gathered everything she had with her, woke me up, and has been begging me to take her home ever since. Then as soon as we neared the driveway, she dozed off."

As she speaks, Edward walks up to her and takes Sophie in his arms. She wakes up with the movement and rubs her eyes.

"Daddy?" she groggily asks.

"Yes, sweetheart, it's me." He kisses her forehead.

I wonder when my heart will stop becoming such mush whenever I see him caring for her.

She puts her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes again, her whole body relaxing instantly.

Edward looks back and forth between Tanya and I. "I'll just put her in her bed. Just…uh…don't kill each other?"

Tanya rolls her eyes. "You and I need to talk, Edward. Now." She looks at me.

Well. I can take a hint. I shrug and walk off even before any of them can move. I take my dress off the chair and march upstairs with as much dignity as I can manage. As much as I'm trying not to let Tanya's presence get to me, I can't deny that it has. And it sucks that I can't really take out all my anger on her. Logically, she isn't the one who has done something wrong; I am. Logically, I know this.

However, I'm not thinking much right now. All I know is, I'm angry at everything – Tanya, his past, my past, dinner at his parents' – basically my entire existence.

Unable to stop myself, I don't actually go inside his room, choosing instead to sit on the top step and overhear whatever little conversation reaches my ears. They aren't very loud. I only hear bits and pieces, but they are enough.

"…_she's a fucking _prostitute. _How did you fail to mention…_"

"…_she _was_. Not anymore…"_

"…_you can't seriously expect me to…"_

"…_no, Tanya…_you_ listen…"_

"…_out of your mind…"_

"…_this was what you wanted…"_

"…_I may not be Mom of the Year but…"_

"…_don't presume what I do and don't know…"_

"…_Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Edward…"_

"…_you can't do that, Tanya..."_

"…_you don't get it…"_

"…_please…"_

And silence.

And the slamming of a door.

And my mind on autopilot leading me back inside the room and making me wear my dress. Cold. Still cold.

––x––

I'm walking down the stairs – not a hair out of place, my shoes on, and purse in hand – when I hear her tiny voice.

"Dad?"

I wait for his response.

A little louder. "Dad?"

Nothing.

Voice now trembling. "Daddy?"

My hand finds the doorknob on its own. My head peeks in. She's sitting in the middle of the bed, holding her blanket tight up to her chin.

"Hi there," I smile.

Blanket is held tighter. "Where's my Dad?"

"I think he went to the washroom or something. May I come in?"

"Who are you?"

"Um…I'm your Dad's friend." I remember. "I gave you a necklace with the butterfly on it…I don't know if you remember –"

"Miss Bella? At the mall." She smiles.

I smile wider. "Yeah. That's me."

"Cool. I like that butterfly. It's my favorite thing in the wooooorld."

She's grinning, I'm grinning.

Because it's awkward just standing there. "Uh…is there something you needed?"

She nods. "May I have some water, please?"

"Yeah, sure."

I turn back around and head to the kitchen. Edward's head snaps up from where he's holding it in his hands, with his elbows on his legs – picture of defeat on the peachy couch.

"You okay?" I ask.

He shrugs.

"Sophie was calling you. She just needs some water."

He gets up and walks over to me. I hand him the glass I just filled, but he shakes his head. "She'll only drink from her school water–bottle." He fills up this…hideously purple bottle. I would smile but the furrow in his brows is worrying.

"Why are you all dressed up?" he asks.

I shrug. "Got to get back to the real world, I guess."

"Don't go yet, please."

"Edward –"

Lips shut me up. "_Please._" Eyes dart back and forth between the staircase and my face. "Just give me five minutes."

So I do. I sit where he was sitting moments ago and wait for him to come back.

When he does, he sits beside me with a sigh and pulls me to him. He holds on tightly, his breaths on my cheek slow and deep. I hold him with a tight grip of my own.

"Your dress is still so cold. You could've ironed it upstairs."

I shrug under his arms. "It's alright."

He rubs his hand up and down my spine for friction anyway.

We're silent for so long that if it wasn't for his hand warming my back, I would think he fell asleep.

I stroke his hair. "What happened, baby?"

His voice is a mumble against my shoulder. "I hate that the outside world keeps ruining everything. I only wanted one normal weekend with my girl, and just…first my father, then Tanya, and it's all fucking bullshit."

I kiss his cheek. "We have to learn to live with that, Edward," I say softly. "This is only the beginning."

Lips under my ear. "I know." A kiss on my face and he lets go. "Fuck, I need a smoke."

"That's a really bad habit. It took me three years to quit."

"When did _you _smoke?"

"Back when I was with James. Had to quit once I started doing…you know…" I let out a breath. "Not many men enjoy a woman that constantly smells of smoke. Something I learned pretty fast."

He looks uncomfortable. "I don't smoke much. Just when I'm really stressed. I don't know…it kinda calms me."

"What did Tanya say that made you so stressed?" Even though I know.

"She's…she _said_ she's considering a custody battle. She doesn't want you to be around Sophie. But to be honest, I think she's just overreacting. She'll come around." He attempts a weak laugh. "I'll talk to her."

I'm not laughing. "Edward…"

"Don't say it. Don't. Don't tell me how this is one more reason why you shouldn't be with me and how you're complicating my life and whatever, when you know I'll want you around despite all of it. Let's just skip over that part."

So I shut my mouth and hold him to me instead. Tomorrow. We'll figure it out tomorrow.

* * *

**A/N: I wrote a BJ scene. While staying at my grandparents' (internet–less) place. One more reason why I'm going to hell.**

**I'll try sending a teaser. Try.**


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

_You are my thoughts. My reflection when I'm fixing my hair. My words when I'm making notes in the margins of my books. I read you. I could read you all my life. Your breaths and eyes and smiles and silences…all on my papers. You're my shadow as I walk in the sun. The crunch of autumn leaves under my feet. The reminder to eat on time. Someone says 'success' and I see you. A little girl cries in the park for her father and I see you. The wind makes my hair tickle my face and I see you on the terrace, sharing your ice cream with me. You're here even in those silly text messages and stolen phone calls. You're my courage to wake up every morning and do this to be better._

_You're more than my thoughts. You are my essence._

_You're here, even when you're…not._

* * *

I stare at the blank screen for what seems like hours, cursing the cursor blinking at me tauntingly. Some days it feels like going back to school was the worst idea I ever had. Today is one of those days.

Nothing works. Nothing.

I have written and deleted this article twice, spilled coffee on my new shirt, the (also new) space heater is broken, Maria is sick (again), her kid is sicker (damn food poisoning), and as much as I care for both of them, if I have to hear someone puke one more time, I'm going to puke right along, on this keyboard.

Edward wouldn't appreciate that, seeing as he bought me this laptop.

"We need to get you to a hospital!" I call out to Maria as she comes out of the bathroom.

"I'm fine," she croaks out.

"Yes, because people who are fine throw up three times in an hour."

"I don't even have health insurance, Bella, what do you expect me to do?" she says, aggravated.

"I told you I have money saved. Isn't that the entire point of busting your ass over two shitty part time jobs; that you have money when you _need_ it? Well, you _need_ it."

She grabs a clean towel from the closet. "I'm not taking more money from you. I already owe you a thousand bucks."

"Jesus fucking Christ, then it won't matter much if you owe me a couple of hundred more."

"I'll be okay in no time!" she insists. "I'm just glad Andrea is getting better."

"Yes, yes, you selfless mom, that was very martyr of you to take _her_ to a doc, but not yourself."

She just rolls her eyes and goes back into the bathroom.

I sigh into the silence. Usually I would be cherishing it. It's rare in this house. But this silence means the little girl I have become so attached to is sick enough that she doesn't want to make a noise even though she's awake.

I close my laptop and put it aside on the couch. The couch that is also my make–shift bed. This cramped corner that basically has everything I own…which, admittedly, is not much. Just a couple of suitcases. Plus some of my old stuff is in Edward's garage – I don't like looking at it constantly, and since I barely have any storage space here, he volunteered to keep it.

He also volunteered to find me a bigger house to rent _and _pay the said rent. I refused, naturally. There is only so much I can let him do for me. We argued a lot over it. When he visits, which is rare, we still argue. But, I tell him over and over, Maria needed a roommate anyway. And between my two jobs…I manage just fine. More than fine.

I get up from this silent, sad corner and go to Andrea's room. She's sitting on the bed, talking in hushed tones to her four toys. They are her world.

When she sees me enter, she smiles. Two of her front teeth are missing. It's the cutest thing. "Aunt Bella, come see!" Jesus fuck, her voice is so hoarse.

I didn't even realize when I turned into an aunt, from being a mere babysitter. I kiss her forehead. Thank God it's not burning up anymore. "See what?"

"My elephant! It does super–circle and flies because Mama said so!"

I'm still not fluent in toddler–speak. I mentally file that away under my never ending list of things to learn.

Nonetheless, she shows me some weird trick with a stuffed animal and I nod along in shared excitement. I even clap. Then she teaches me how to do it and I comply. And she hugs me.

It's strange. It's just fucking strange, this bond I have with her. I don't understand at all.

After a few minutes, she gets bored and decides to spin the top instead. Only, she needs a flat surface to do it. I don't let her sit on the dirty floor. I'm looking for something flat to keep on the bed but Andrea beats me to it, placing this huge envelope in front of me and asking me to spin first.

I'm about to, but then I see what it is. It's open, and I don't hesitate in checking out the contents.

"Sweetheart, why don't you see your picture book for a while? I need to talk to your mom."

She looks disappointed but does as I say.

I go back to my couch and wait for Maria to finish showering. When she comes out, I don't even waste a single second.

"What the hell is this?" I ask, waving the envelope in my hand.

I watch as recognition dawns on her face, her eyes widening, and she simply turns around. "None of your business," she says over her shoulder, before putting her dirty clothes into the laundry basket.

I follow her. "Maria, you told me you didn't go to the doctor."

"But I did. So what?"

"So wh– why did you lie to me?"

"Look, Bella, I don't think I'm obligated to tell you every small detail about my life."

She snatches the envelope from my hand and is about to go back into the bedroom when I speak. "I saw the papers. I know."

She turns around, her face hardened with anger. "Well, you had no fucking right to. That's invasion of privacy."

I sigh. "I know. And I'm sorry. I just…I was concerned. And confused. You told me you had no insurance and no money and I wondered."

Her jaw tightens but she doesn't respond.

"Maria –"

"I don't want to talk about this."

"I'm gathering as much but –"

"Look, just drop it. It doesn't matter."

"How can you say it doesn't matter? You're pregnant."

"So?"

I let out an incredulous laugh. "So? _So? _So…you…what the actual fuck?"

"This is why I didn't want you to know. I knew you'd freak out, especially considering that Marc–" she stops short.

But I've already heard. I've already made the connection.

"Maria, no. Just no. For the love of God, tell me he's not the father."

She shrugs. She looks away.

"This is insane."

"I thought you saw the papers. His name's there. He paid."

"I didn't see _all_ the papers. And of all the people…"

She takes a deep breath. "He's changed, you know…he's not the same man."

"Men like him don't change. He's an asshole. Always was, always will be."

"You don't know him now."

"He manages a _strip club_, Maria. A strip club where he exploits all the girls who work there. He even made _me _sleep with him!"

"Thanks for the reminder, bitch."

"I don't understand. Why are you defending him? He's the sleaziest motherfucker around and just…_ugh_. Did he force you into it? Did you owe him money and he made you 'pay'? Because –"

"No, no, stop. I love him."

"_What?_"

"You heard me."

"You can't. You can't love Marcus. That's just…no." I refuse to believe this.

"Bella, he takes care of me. He doesn't let me prostitute myself anymore. I only wait the tables. That's why I've been running short on cash lately. Ever since he found out that I…that I'm carrying his child…he's been really nice about it. Like, I expected him to lash out, you know? Maybe fire me and leave me to fend for myself…to ask me to get an abortion or something. But he didn't. He was shocked, yes, but he came around. He's been accompanying me to visits to the doctor –"

"It takes a fuckton more than that to be a father, alright?"

She's angry again. "You think I don't know? You think I planned this?" And now she starts to cry.

I'm angry too. "The point is not whether or not you planned this; the point is that you have a little girl to think of. You can't seriously expect a man like him to play a father figure in Andrea's life. No. I won't let you. Did you forget _everything_? He has exploited girls who are still just girls. He has exploited a lot of vulnerability and girls who had no one to turn to. Maria, you know this. You _know_ this."

"I know it's hard for you to understand –"

"It's impossible. He's a despicable person and of all people I never expected _you_ to overlook that."

She swats her tears away. "I'm not overlooking anything. I've seen how he's changed."

Un–fucking–believable. "I hate him. I'll never forgive him or forget his ways."

When you've lived a life like I have, you don't forget. You never forget. There are too many horrors to be simply piled up and put away in some dark corner of the mind.

"Maria…" I try again, my tone a lot gentler, "you deserve better. Much, much better."

"Well I'm sorry we all can't land an Edward fucking Cullen. Not everyone lucks out."

With that, she storms off and slams the bedroom door. I feel like I've been slapped. Because in that one sentence is so much bitterness and resentment. I had no idea I'd see that in her eyes. Hear it in her voice.

The one friend I have in the world feels so bitter about my life.

I walk out of the shitty apartment to clear my head. I go downstairs and taking deep breaths, sit on the roadside. I watch the traffic go by. I watch the people in their shiny cars and shiny clothes and shiny shoes and laptop bags and I wonder if they ever feel just as lost.

They probably do. I know Edward does. They just have money to make the going easier. They probably don't need to rely on assholes to pay for their doctor's appointments.

On an impulse, I fish out my cell phone from my jeans' pocket, and call Edward. It's…risky, in a way. For one, I know he must be in his office right now. I know I'll end up disturbing him. I don't care. We agreed that I wouldn't call him unless urgent because he was doing everything in his power to show Tanya that he was keeping me at a safe distance. I don't care. I need to talk to him and I need to hear his voice and I need him to hear me out. He hasn't called in two weeks and I fucking miss him.

He never picks up. The silence of the line disconnecting is deafening. And I care. And I hurt. And in that moment, I feel all alone.

I take a deep breath and pull up my knees to my chest. I tell myself I'm being stupid. I try to drown out the storm in my head by focusing more on the noise of the traffic.

I don't know how long I sit there. I only notice the time when I see the sky turning orange and feel the chill of evening wind, realizing that I didn't bother with putting on a jacket. I decide to go back upstairs but my phone rings just then. I smile. I can't help it. Like a silly teenager in love, I smile at the phone screen that lights up with his name.

"Hi," I say.

"Hey, sweetheart." He sounds so tired.

"How are you?"

"I'm sorry I missed your call. I was in an important meeting and –"

"Look, I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I know we talked about this but I just…I wanted to hear your voice."

"I miss you," he sighs. Maybe it's the way he says it – his voice all gentle and loving and sad – but I tear up.

"I miss you, too. So much. You have no idea."

"Things have been so crazy lately. There's so much I need to tell you."

"I know, I know. So do I. I'm a mess right now."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know. Nothing." I sniffle. "Everything."

"Why are you crying? What happened?"

"I just had an argument with Maria and school sucks and the job sucks more and I miss you and I'm so exhausted and lonely and I don't fucking know why I'm crying, okay."

"Oh, Bella. Talk to me. What happened with_ –_"

'_Mr. Cullen, I'm sorry –_'

"Hang on, sweetheart," he tells me. And then to whoever interrupted. "_Tell them to wait. No. Wait. Five minutes. I'll be there._"

"Edward, you're busy. We can talk later."

He sighs but doesn't say anything else.

"Edward?"

"I hate this."

"I know. And I understand." I wipe my face. "It's alright."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I love you."

He doesn't even know how much I needed to hear that. "Love you."

"I'll call you later tonight, I promise."

"Yeah."

He doesn't call.

* * *

**A/N: Trust me.**

**Thank you to NKubie and Agustina for their mad beta/pre–reading skills.**

**Changed my pen–name and Twitter handle to ileftmyscar – just FYI, I used to be Rose Masen Cullen.**

**Trying to be quick about the next update. Life is still a mess. Ten–hours–at–college–schedule can screw off, to be honest. As can three hours of travel daily. And thirty novels per semester.**

**Can't promise teasers anymore but I'll try. You're all lovely for putting up with my shit. Thank you.**

**Rose**


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

_Sometimes, feeling lonely can turn into introspection and self–awareness. My Dad always used to tell me that I should believe in myself, because unless I do, nobody else will._

* * *

Today is a good day. I can feel it in my bones. Despite having stayed up half the night in hopes of Edward's call, despite being unable to finish the assignment that was due today (and will earn me additional homework), despite being ignored by Maria in the morning…I feel lighter, in a way. Maybe it's because the sun is out.

Maybe it's because I finally mustered up the courage to call Charlie again. Maybe it's because he didn't sound mad, or sad, and maybe because I could hear his happiness that I called.

Maybe because it's his birthday and I'm proud of myself for making sure it's a happy one.

Maybe because I sent him a gift that I bought with my own money. My money earned from a decent job. Maybe because I'm excited for him to receive it and call me because yeah, he finally has my number.

Maybe because I walk these hallways of this community college and for once feel worthy of this opportunity to learn.

Maybe because I reach the library where I tutor high school kids – my second job that the counselor set me up with – and actually feel eyes that respect me and do not leer. Maybe because these five kids had a test last week and D minus average holders now show me sheets with As and Bs.

Maybe because I'm proud. Of them. Of me.

Maybe because one of these kids is a goofball and I can't help but smile when he's around. I can't help but feel grateful that he carries my stuff and walks with me to the bus stop every evening (we take the same bus), talking about school stuff and about the girls he has a crush on. I can't help but find it endearing when he whines about how complicated girls are and then blushes and mumbles "no offense intended." For all his confidence, he's still just a boy.

"Miss Bella, I wish all girls were like you."

"Are you flirting with me again, Jacob?"

"Would I dare?"

"Yes."

He sighs exaggeratedly. "Just one date. That's all I ask." He grins.

"I hope for your sake that you are joking because not only is it immoral and unethical if I go out with you – not to forget _illegal_ – but my boyfriend will beat you to a pulp."

"Oh yeah. The boyfriend. Forgot about that."

I roll my eyes. Forgot. Bullshit.

"Where _is_ your boyfriend, anyway? How come he never picks you up?"

"I'm a big girl, Jacob, I can take myself home."

"You're not making up a hypothetical boyfriend just to make the letdown easier for me, are you? Because I am only kidding about taking you out. I mean, you're really, and I mean _really_ pretty –"

"Jacob –"

"–but like…no. That would be so gross."

I chuckle. "I know you're joking. You're always joking. Why else would I put up with you?" I poke his arm.

"Um, because we're friends?"

I'm taken aback. "What?"

He shrugs. "You're a cool friend. And you always help me out."

"That's my job," I argue.

"You do more than your job, Miss Bella. I think we both know that."

I can only shake my head. But as I mull it over, I realize that _friend_ doesn't sound bad actually. No, it doesn't sound bad at all.

We have just reached the main gate when my eyes spot a figure in the distance. Leaning against his silver car, hunched over as if looking for something inside through the window, perfect features crumpled up in a grimace, phone balanced between his shoulder and ear as he fiddles with his watch... He looks aggravated. Messed up. Gorgeous.

And fuckable.

Extremely fuckable.

I tell my horny brain to shut up.

"Um…judging by the look on your face, I'd say that's your boyfriend."

I turn to Jacob with a small smile. "I'll see you tomorrow." I take my bag from him. "Thank you."

He grins. "Cool."

When I look back towards Edward, he's looking straight at me. Phone call finished, watch strap adjusted, tie loosened up. For a moment, all I can think of is _he didn't call, he didn't call, he didn't call_. All I can feel is a desperate longing. Like I can't reach him even when he's right here. Like we're miles apart no matter what.

And then he opens his arms. And I'm the teenager living out my normal high school day that I never experienced, as I run straight to him and throw my arms around his neck. He lets out a little "oof" of surprise but returns my embrace.

I blush when I finally pull back. "Hi."

He takes my bag and tosses it inside the car through the open window, and his hands come back to rest on my waist. "Hi."

Why is this awkward?

"Um, so –"

"Who is that?" He nods towards the direction I just walked – ran – from.

I don't even have to look. "Jacob. Jacob Black."

"Hmm."

He looks bothered by it. And even though the rational part of me knows I don't owe him any explanation, and I note that he doesn't even ask for it, I give him one anyway.

"Edward, he's a kid. He's like…half my age. Knowing my luck, I've probably slept with his _Dad_ at some point," I say jokingly.

And yeah, that wasn't the way I planned to say that.

He doesn't laugh. In fact, his expression makes me regret my lack of brain to mouth filter.

I purse my lips. "That wasn't an appropriate thing to say, was it?"

He looks like he'll throw up. "Not really, no."

I put my arms around his neck again and pull myself up on my tiptoes to kiss his nose. "I'm sorry. It's just…I read a couple of self–help books."

"That's…good?"

I smile at his confused tone at my abrupt change of subject, and relax back on my heels as his hands rub my back. "One of my professors kinda…knew me. Like, he recognized me. From before." My voice is smaller. "He knew what I used to do."

"Oh no. Did he –"

"Wait, let me finish. I was sure he wasn't a…former client. He called me after a class and told me he just saw me dancing at some party his friends dragged him to. Anyway, I expected him to be a douche about the whole thing, but…he was actually really nice. He said he was glad I was trying to turn a new page. So, um, he recommended that I go and see the guidance counselor. Tell her about my life. That she would help me figure out what I'm good at and how to deal with…everything. And yeah, she did. She made me take aptitude tests and stuff, and she also gave me a few self–help books because she could see how lost I felt."

I don't tell him how that feeling of being lost multiplied because I couldn't see him when I probably needed him most.

He just keeps running his fingers through my hair and patiently listens. I can feel my face heating up. We're seeing each other after a month, and I'm rambling like a silly girl. I don't know why I'm embarrassed about all this but I am.

"So anyway. The self–help books. They talk about this thing where I'm supposed to speak my mind no matter what. It's supposed to build confidence and help to 'deal with repressed traumatic memories'. I memorized that bit. I try to follow it." I shrug. "Hence the word vomit. Sorry."

He leans in and his breaths on my face are heaven. "Bella, don't ever be sorry for that. You're becoming this wonderful, strong woman – not that you weren't before, but you know what I mean." His words against my forehead and I could die of emotions. "You're out here trying to chalk out a career and build a life from scratch, and I don't say this nearly enough, but I'm proud of you. I'm proud of everything you are." His voice is gentle and lips are kissing down my cheek and fuck me, I missed him so much. And combined with his words…I just want to cry.

He pulls back a little and with his finger tries to make my lips smile. He sighs. "How old did you say he was?"

"Huh?"

"Jacob." His eyes are amused.

_My_ eyes roll. "Sixteen." And for his benefit. "I just help him out with Math. It's my second part time job. I tutor five kids. Who knew I still remembered high school stuff, eh?"

He frowns. "He doesn't look sixteen," he mutters. It makes me chuckle that that's the only thing he chose to focus on out of everything I just said.

"Oh, you know, teenage boys and their obsession with being buff these days. It's…a little out of control in Jacob's case."

"I can see that."

"Edward," I say when he still looks troubled. "Honestly, you can't be jealous of a kid!"

He buries his face in my neck and holds me tight. "I can't help it. He gets to spend more time with you in a day than I do in a month lately."

"Well, that's not _my_ fault, is it?" I regret saying it immediately.

He just sighs.

I kiss his cheek. "I shouldn't have said that either."

"It's true though." He does sound regretful.

I don't know what else to say so I just hold him as tight as he's holding me. It's warm and comforting and familiar. His scent is like home.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Are we just gonna like, stand here like this?"

His face shifts so his lips find my neck. Open mouthed kisses. Jesus. I try not to make indecent noises. We _are _in public.

"Yes. Yes, we are going to just stand here for a little longer because I haven't seen you in more than a month and I really miss holding you. So I'm just going to hug the shit out of you for as long as I can."

And when he says stuff like that, I just fall for him a bit more.

* * *

We're pulling in at some fancy place I've only heard of maybe once. And I'm regretting the fact that underneath this overcoat I'm wearing a shirt with a hole in it. Actually, two. It's an old shirt. And Maria should just leave the ironing to me.

"Are you sure you won't get in trouble with your boss?" _he_ asks _me._ And that makes me giggle.

"What?"

"Just the fact that _I'm_ being asked about my job and possible consequences of calling in sick. I mean, it's silly. It's not like I run a company. I just wait the tables at a café for four hours. In fact, I should ask _you_ about getting in trouble."

He kisses the hand he hasn't let go of all through the ride. "I'm my own boss, baby."

I raise a brow when he looks at me after parking the car. "Yet you can't call in sick to, oh I don't know, go see your girlfriend whom you haven't seen in, say, a month?"

His face falls. "Yeah, I deserved that one."

I just take a deep breath. I'm about to apologize when he kisses my hand again.

"But you know," he says against my skin, "I'm here now. And I totally called in sick."

Before I can respond, he's out the door and rushing to open mine.

"Charming," I say with a light smile.

"What? Opening your door or calling in sick?"

I smile and take the hand he's offering me. "Both."

He puts on his coat, locks up the car and we start walking, but not ten seconds later, he suddenly stops. "Oh, shit, I completely forgot."

"What?"

"I was supposed to pick up flowers for you on my way. That goddamn phone call just…" he shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be. Since when have I cared about flowers, Edward?"

He rubs his free hand over his face. "That's not the point. The gesture. It's the gesture that counts."

He is more upset than he probably should be. I step closer and hug him, and I can feel the tension in his body.

"Why are you so anxious?" I whisper in his ear. "It's just me. Relax, okay?"

"I can't. It's not okay." He pushes me back a bit and his hands come up to hold my face. "Don't you see, Bella? At every step I'm failing you."

"Forgetting to bring flowers is not –"

"It's not about the fucking flowers," he says impatiently. "It's about how I should be treating you like the treasure that you are." His forehead rests against mine. "It's about how I wanted – _needed _ – to take you out on a real, clichéd date that we never had. It's about how I resolve every day to call you and fail. Like last night. I hate that I was so tired by the time I reached home that I couldn't even finish my dinner, leave alone checking my phone. I just fell asleep, right there on the couch. It's about the weekends I spend planning to show up at your place to surprise you, but derail all those plans for one thing or the other. If it's not a PTA meeting, it's a board meeting. If it's not art classes and a stubborn kid, it's an assistant misplacing files I desperately need. If it's not phone calls from the lawyer, it's phone calls from a babysitter who at the last minute decides not to show up. It's like, everything that could possibly go wrong, does. And now we're standing here in this goddamn parking lot of a restaurant I'm not even sure you like, and I've forgotten to even bring you flowers, and I can sense all the hurt behind your little remarks, and I am so unbelievably sorrier than I can tell you. You'd think as a man who runs his own company and is raising a child by himself, I'd be better equipped to deal with all this, but I'm not. I'm this close to my snapping point."

"Hey, come on," I say gently, and turn my face to kiss his hand. "Don't put yourself down like that. I know you have a lot of responsibilities. I understand. Don't beat yourself over it. You said you're proud of me, and I'm proud of you, too. You handle far more than I could even dream of." I pull myself up on my toes and lightly brush my lips against his. He moves one hand behind my neck and pulls me closer. It's gentle and innocent. His lips are so soft and just slightly wet and it's perfect. His fingers in my hair make me shiver. His thumb against my cheek is light as a feather. I breathe him in greedily, clutching and wrinkling his shirt in one hand, stroking his heartbeat on the neck with the other.

"I'm sorry I've been such a bitch today," I say breathlessly, as I pull back a little. "You're right; I was hurt. How could I not be, Edward? I missed you. I _miss_ you. I'm only human, and sometimes I just need you. Yesterday, I needed you. My first day of college, I needed you. I didn't realize just how dependent I was – am – on you, till you weren't there."

"I'm so sorry."

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to talk to me. Discuss this so we can somehow make it work."

"I…I was nervous. More than that…I was scared about today," he admits with a little nod, his eyes still closed.

"Why?"

"I thought you'd tell me to go fuck off. I thought you would've…maybe…I don't know…met someone who could –"

"Edward that's absurd."

"– who could make you his first priority," he finishes, and the furrow in his brow breaks my heart.

"Open your eyes," I whisper. He complies. I look into them as I say the next words, so he knows that I mean them. "I don't want to be someone's first priority. Or any priority. Fuck that. I'm not a responsibility you can just add in on a list and scratch it off when it's done. No. That's insulting who I am."

He's shaking his head. "I didn't mean it like that, I promise –"

"Just let me finish." I take a deep breath. "Sooner or later, I had to do this. Go out. Learn. Be independent. In a twisted way, maybe it was even positive that you weren't there. I don't know. My Mom always used to say that everything happened to put you on the right path so you could reach your destiny. I used to find those words hokey, but I see what she meant.

"That's not to say that I didn't need you. I did. I still do. How can I not? I love you. I just had to learn to exist _despite_ that need. I'm still learning. And as far as priorities are concerned…well…I'd rather _share_ priorities, know what I mean? Don't cut me out of your life, Edward. Tell me how I can help, and I will."

He nods and kisses my forehead. We stand there in silence for a few seconds, just holding on to each other.

"We just had this serious as it gets conversation in the middle of a parking lot." I look up to see his smiling face.

I smile too, feeling lighter than I have in a long while. "Lucky for us, there aren't people around."

He brushes his nose against mine. "I hope you like Italian cuisine, Bella. I'm starving."

"Duh, my name's Bella," I joke. "I used to cook Italian food with Mom all the time. But I haven't had it in forever."

"I think we should remedy that." But instead of walking, he leans in and kisses me again, this time immediately tracing my lips with his tongue and grasping me so tightly that his fingers dig into my back. I feel like I could happily drown in him...drown in this moment.

Dinner's going to have to wait.

* * *

**Thank you to NKubie, and to you. Yes, you.**


	25. Chapter 24

**A/N: Unbeta'ed chapter. And longer than usual to make up for the wait. All mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading :)**

* * *

**Chapter 24**

* * *

"Edward, this is a bad idea."

"Trust me."

"But –"

"Shh. No more arguments on this. Please."

"I'm not _arguing_, I'm just –"

"– making a point. You've said that about seven hundred times since last week."

She sighs.

"Bella," I say in the gentlest tone I can manage, "just try. Please. For me."

"It's too soon!"

"How is it too soon? We've been together for more than two years now."

Her voice is small. "Yeah, but…it scares me."

"Oh, sweetheart, why? You were the one telling me how badly you want to meet her."

"Yes, but not on her _birthday_. I'm still just a stranger to her. Why would she want me there at her birthday party? And lest we forget – your ex–wife will also be there. And your parents. This has disaster written allover it."

"Bella, sooner or later we'll have to go through this."

"I know."

We stay silent for a few heartbeats.

"Fine," I say. "Her birthday is on Monday. Meet her on Saturday first. I promised to take her to the aquarium as a pre–birthday present. Come with us."

"Um…"

"Bella."

"How about…I just meet you there? That way it won't look like I'm intruding on the father–daughter time. You can pretend to be surprised to see me or whatever."

"That makes sense."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm so sleepy."

I chuckle. "Then sleep."

"But I wanna keep talking to you."

"Me too."

"I'm beginning to hate school."

"This conversation is reminding me of my high–school days."

"I wish we'd been in high school together. So many things would've been different."

"That's a what–if I don't like to think of."

"Why not?" she asks, yawning.

"Because it's very open ended. I like certainty. I like knowing for sure that I have you in my life. I mean, who knows where we would've ended up if things would've been different. All that matters to me now is that I'm here, and you're here, and I love you, and by some miracle you love me back. Yeah, it was a shitty way to _get_ here and we both chose the wrong paths and made mistakes but it all turned out well, didn't it?"

"Hmm."

"And now we don't have to hide anymore because you've made your amends and I've made mine. You're no longer doing what you did and I'm no longer married to the wrong woman. Now it's just you, me and Sophie, baby. We have a whole life ahead of us. A blank page."

"Mm–hmm."

"We never celebrated that, by the way. We should. We should go somewhere for a weekend. Just the two of us. We haven't had a lot of free time lately. I can't wait for your semester to end so you can have a couple of weeks off. I want you all to myself before I have to share you with Sophie. I know how childish that sounds, but god, I miss you. I'll have to convince Sophie to…" I pause. "Bella?"

I listen to her slow breathing. I laugh softly. "Goodnight, Bella."

* * *

I feel someone shaking my arm.

"Daddy?"

My brows furrow.

"Daddy, wake up!"

I force my eyes open and sit up. One look at her teary face and I'm wide awake. She holds out her arms and I help her on to the bed. I rub my face as worry balls up in my stomach. "What's wrong? Are you alright? Why are you crying? Did you fall from the bed? Do you hurt anywhere?" I feel her forehead. No fever. I hold her face in my hand and look for any injuries.

She hiccoughs. "I had a bad dream."

Oh. "Oh. I'm sorry about that. Come here."

She settles against my chest and I run my hand through her hair. "I got scared," she sobs.

I kiss her hair and rock her back and forth. "Don't be scared anymore. You're safe here. It was just a bad dream. It wasn't real."

She sniffles and wipes her nose on my t–shirt sleeve. We stay like that for a few minutes till her tears subside.

"Daddy, are you sure there's no monster under the bed?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I checked twice."

"And no witches outside the window like in that movie?"

"What movie? And no, there's no such as witches. Or monsters."

"That movie we saw!"

"Who is 'we', sweetheart? When?"

"Miss Lisbeth and me!"

"Miss Lisbeth made you watch a movie with witches in it?" I need to have a few words with that woman.

"Yeah! On Disney today. But she fell asleep before the movie ended. I don't think she liked it."

"Sweetheart, you're not supposed to watch TV. Didn't we discuss this? Movie time is with me. That's our special time. On Saturdays."

She pouts. "But I was bored."

"Which is why you have so many toys to entertain you!"

"But I like watching TV!"

"And look what happens when you watch it. You get nightmares. No more TV. Okay?"

"Okaaaaaaay."

I put on the sternest voice. "I mean it, Sophie. Pinky–promise?"

She lets out a long, suffering sigh like I just kicked her puppy. But she pinky–swears.

I yawn and relax back against the pillows, still holding her close.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we have a tea party?"

"Okay. Tomorrow."

"Noooo, now."

"Now?"

"Uh–huh."

"You want us to pretend to be drinking tea in the middle of the night."

"I'm bored."

I palm my face. "How about we try this other little game instead?"

"Ooooh, what game?"

"It's a game called 'let's see who falls asleep first.'"

She giggles. "Daddy, that's not a game."

"Sure it is. I used to play that a lot when I was as little as you."

Apparently I'm extremely amusing while half asleep because she laughs so hard her entire body shakes.

"Come on, I'm serious. I challenge you. I bet I can sleep first." I totally can. God, I'm tired.

"No, I can do it!"

"Pfft. I don't believe you."

"I've already closed my eyes! I'm already almost asleep!"

"You're still talking."

"Oh, sorry. Shhhh," she whispers. To herself. I laugh and kiss her forehead.

I wait till she's fast asleep before closing my eyes.

* * *

"Yes, Mom, I'll take her to Tanya's parents' house on Monday morning. They want to have their own little celebration with Sophie. Tanya won't be there though. Anyway, you guys can set up the whole thing then."

"_Are you sure she'll like it, Edward?_ _I hope she'll like it._"

"You're more anxious about this than you should be. What kid doesn't like a playground? It's a goddamn _playground_, Ma! She'll be thrilled."

"_You don't think it's too much?_"

I sigh. "Since when has that stopped you and Dad?"

"_Good point._"

"And let's not forget, _Alice_."

"_Oh, don't worry; I made her promise that she won't do anything extravagant._"

"And since when has that stopped _her_?"

"_Touché._"

"I still haven't told Sophie that Alice will be coming."

"_Good. Alice wants to surprise her._"

"I know. I'm looking forward to it. And don't tell her – but I kind of miss her too."

"_Aw, you._"

I watch as Sophie comes running into the dining room and just as quickly runs out of it, with Elizabeth – our new housekeeper – chasing her. It's not easy for her. Arthritis. I really should've hired someone younger. But an unemployed widow without any family needed something to live for again and she happened to know my mom, so here we are now. "This is not funny anymore, Sophie. Get here so I…Sophie, your hair will get tangled!"

"_Edward_?"

"Yeah, yeah, mom. Sorry, I got distracted."

"_I asked if Bella would be there._"

"At the party? Yeah, she will be."

"_Oh_, _good_."

"Dad better apologize to her."

"_Don't hold your breath. I'm not the one you get your pigheadedness from._"

I sigh. "Touché."

"_Listen, I better go and finish making dinner._ _I'll talk to you later, okay?_"

"Yeah, me too. Goodnight, Mom."

"_Goodnight._"

I put the phone on the counter and go back to stirring the noodles just as Sophie comes running in again.

"Car tackle, Daddy! Vrooooooom!"

"Ah, no no no! No tackles in the kitchen! Danger zone."

She halts in her tracks. "Whoops."

"Exactly."

"Daddy, did you know, I'm the best car ever!"

"Yes, I know."

"I'm even better than McQueen! And _faster_!"

She's been a little obsessed since we watched _Cars_ in the afternoon. Work was slow, so I took half a day off to show her a movie that did not involve witches.

"There you are!" Elizabeth. "Now come here so I can fix your hair!"

"No."

"Sophie," I warn. "Is that a way to talk to elders?"

"Daddy, I don't want to get my hair did!"

"Done. Not 'did.'"

"Okay."

"Now, go and get your hair done. And please remember your manners."

"But Miss Lisbeth pulls my hair too hard, and it hurts!"

"Now, it's not my fault you keep running around and getting your hair tangled, Missy!"

Sophie glowers at her and then looks at me. I bend a little and playfully grab her nose.

"Just remember that we have to go to the aquarium tomorrow and if your hair looks like a bird's nest, then a bird might actually make it its home."

She crinkles her nose. "Ew. If it makes my hair home, then it might poop in there."

I laugh. "Yes, it might."

Her shoulders sag in defeat. "Oh–kay, Miss Lisbeth."

Elizabeth smiles and holds out her hand. "I promise I'll try to be gentle."

Just like every night since the past two weeks, they sit on the couch and from the kitchen, I watch carefully as Elizabeth braids Sophie's hair. Someday. Someday I'll get the hang of it.

* * *

"It's so eerie to watch you with her."

"What?"

"Yeah. It is. She's so much like you, it's crazy. The gestures, the facial expressions, the tone…"

"Um, I don't know if you noticed, and I'm sorry if this surprises you, but…she's my kid, Bella."

Bella rolls her eyes. "Ha ha ha."

I laugh and pull her to me. I kiss her cheek.

"Are you sure you should be kissing me while Sophie is less than ten feet away?" she whispers.

"She won't notice. Just look at her. Totally engrossed. This is her version of Disneyland. She's been begging me to bring her here for months."

"I'm amazed at how quiet she is. Like, shouldn't she be running around all hyper and excited and like you fed her too much sugar?"

"She's always been this way. Her excitement is in her face. Subtle, but there. If you bend down and look her in the eye, she'll make this face where her eyes are wide and her fingers will reach out slowly to point to something she desperately wants to touch. And then she'll whisper '_Daddy, it's so perfect!_'… It's a beautiful thing."

She looks at me like I have two heads.

"What?"

"Just…the way you said that."

I feel all self–conscious now. "Well, what about it?"

"Daddy! Daddy, look, come here!"

I give Bella a small smile, remove my arm from around her and walk over to where Sophie's face is all squished up against the glass. Her hands cover the sides of her face. I get down on my knees beside her and copy her.

"What are we looking at?"

"Water."

I try not to laugh. "Baby, I know that. But there's a lot of water here. Why are we looking at this particular place?" My words condense on the glass.

"Look closer. There's a blue fish here! With _stripes_. It's so pretty!"

I look closer. I don't see it. I tell her so. She pulls me by my shirt to where she was standing and makes me look again. "Do you see it? It's right near that rock." There are way too many rocks here. "Daddy, do you see? Can we have a fish like that at home? Please?"

I turn my head and look at her with narrowed eyes. "But you're already getting a gift for your birthday."

She bounces a little on her toes. "But can we get this instead?"

"How can we get this instead? I already bought your presents!"

She does that wide–eyed thing again. "Presents? More than one?"

Dammit. That was supposed to be a surprise. I sigh. "Yes."

"Ooooh, what all am I getting?"

"_That_, I won't tell. It's a surprise."

She pouts. Before she can pull the puppy–dog face, I hold up a finger. "Just one day. Between today, and your birthday, there's just one more day. You'll find out soon enough."

"But Daddyyyyyyy –"

"Uh–uh–uh. No whining. We talked about this, didn't we?"

Her face falls. "Yeah, we did."

I reach for her and kiss her cheek. "Good. Now be nice and I'll let you sit on my shoulders so you can see the fishes up there closely."

Her smile is back and breathing is easier. "Okay! But first can we see the yellow ones? They're there!" She points somewhere.

"Okay," I say.

"Bella, don't you like fish?" Sophie asks. Bella specifically asked Sophie to not call her 'Miss Bella.'

I look at her as her hands find their way into her hoodie pockets. Her nervousness makes her do this. "Um, I love fish."

"But you didn't see any!"

She smiles. "I did! I just didn't see them up close like you did."

"Oh. But they're really pretty up close." And before Bella can reply, "I'll show you. I know the _best_ ones."

My shirt collar is conveniently discarded for Bella's hand. I get back up and watch as Sophie pulls Bella in whichever direction she was talking about. I watch as Bella turns her head around for just a second, and her shy smile takes my breath away. I watch as my two favorite girls talk about fish names. I watch Sophie's awe over how much Bella knows about fishes. I watch Bella's memories written allover her face when she explains how she used to go fishing with her Dad when she was little. I stand behind them and watch in wonder and don't interrupt.

Two hands held together have never looked more perfect.

* * *

"What is _that_?"

We're in the storage closet while Sophie gets ready for her birthday party. She wants to wear a specific dress and Elizabeth is helping her look for it. My parents and Alice have finished setting up the slide, swing and sandbox, and Alice is currently 'hiding' in the kitchen till Sophie comes downstairs. It's all very juvenile and I couldn't love my family more.

A few of Sophie's school friends are also here, playing a game of hide–and–seek. Bella is playing with them, too. It's just that she's hiding…here, away from my family, with all the presents. And I just stole her away for a minute.

"That," I tell her as I point to the rather large gift–wrapped box, "is a toy car. With pedals so she can 'drive' it around the house. She already has a bike, but she's been obsessed with cars ever since we watched that movie, so…"

"That's…wow."

I rub a hand at the back of my neck. "You think it's too much? The car, the backyard–turned–playground, plus who knows what all Alice has brought in those…" I wave a hand around to similar (though smaller) boxes in the left corner. _Six_ boxes.

She shrugs. "Does it matter what I think? _You're_ the parent."

"Bella, we wouldn't be standing here and having this conversation if it didn't matter. Of course your opinion matters. You're going to be an important part of Sophie's life too."

She kisses my cheek. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so rude about this."

"Well?"

"You Cullens go a _little_ overboard, yes. But as long as you let her know that this comes with duties and responsibilities, you should be good."

I put my arms around Bella's waist and rest my chin on her shoulders. She leans against me and we stand like this for a few seconds.

"She's been having nightmares lately. Three out of the past four nights, she has woken up in the middle of the night, crying and scared."

"Aw, poor baby."

"Yeah. I was – am – worried. She tries too hard to keep me happy. Gets really scared if I even show hints of being upset with her…"

"Separation anxiety?"

"I think so. She's clingy and wants all of my time, gets upset when I work overtime…she may not verbalize it, but I can see how she's scared that I'll leave too." I just hold Bella tighter. "I just want to make her happy," I whisper. "If that means going overboard, so be it."

She turns around and hugs me. "Edward…you _are_ making her happy. You're doing your best. You're a wonderful father," she says to my shoulder.

"Everyone says I should take her to a child psychologist – her teacher, my parents, fuck, even Tanya."

"That might be a good idea. Most kids from broken families need some kind of psychological help, Edward."

I sigh into her hair. "I don't think it's that bad in her case. I mean, she _is_ a happy kid, you know. Just…a little scared sometimes. No matter how much I reassure her."

She strokes my hair. "Better safe than sorry. Give her the chance to cope up with Tanya's absence. You can't fill that gap with gifts, baby. These are only means for short term happiness."

"Yeah. I know."

"But Edward?"

"Hmm?"

She whispers against my lips, "I totally bought her a blue fish with stripes."

And just like that, I love Bella allover again.

* * *

"Where is my birthday girl?"

"I'm here, I'm here!" she calls from inside the closet.

"What's taking you so long, sweetheart? Your friends are waiting!" I say as I open the door.

"Daddy, look!" she squeals, gesturing to her shoes. Her sparkly, sliver shoes.

"Well, they look amazing! Look at you! You're the prettiest."

She smiles so wide that I wonder if her cheeks hurt. I kiss her forehead.

"I finally found the dress I wanted to wear. Miss Lisbeth helped me."

"Did you thank her?"

She nods fervently. "I even told her that she can have the flower part of the cake."

I hear Elizabeth chuckle from behind me, as she puts back all the scattered clothes.

"Daddy, do you like my white dress? Me and Mom got it when we went to the mall. She said I looked like a princess!"

I tuck her hair behind her ears. "I think your dress is lovely. As are you."

"I wore it specially for Mom."

"I think your Mom will love it too."

She beams like I've just made her day.

I wriggle my eyebrows. "Are you ready for your surprise?"

She nods.

"Are you suuuuuure?"

"YES!" she laughs.

"Okay, then. Off we go downstairs."

I'm about to lift her into my arms when she says, "Can I please walk? I'm a big girl now! I'm six!"

My smile slips but I remind myself to act my age and not throw a tantrum, as much as I want to. I let her walk in front of me and I smile again when she stops to take my hand.

Just as we make it downstairs, she is passed around from one hug to another. She squeals when Carlisle twirls her around, laughs when Esme warns Carlisle about his back, smiles her perfect smile when her friends hand her the gifts.

I look around and spot Bella standing in the kitchen with Alice, engaged in what seems to be an entertaining conversation, if their smiles are anything to go by. Happiness settles on my chest when I see my sister hug Bella, as if they've been friends for life. I can see how taken aback Bella is, but I also see the relief on her face.

I walk towards them and am startled when I hear Sophie squeal louder than ever. "Aunt Alice! You came!" she exclaims and runs straight into Alice's arms.

"Surprise!" Alice squeals right back.

They hug and kiss and laugh and shriek, and talk faster than I can keep up with, as Bella stands there with the most precious smile on her face. I have never felt more complete. All the people I love are under the same roof, all happy and content. I just stand there against the kitchen counter and bask in it.

Until my phone rings.

And dread bursts my happy bubble as Tanya's name flashes on the screen. I quickly walk off and shut myself in the guest room next to the kitchen.

"Please tell me you're not calling for what I think you're calling for," I say by way of greeting.

I hear her sigh. "Edward…"

"No. You tell me right now that you'll be here in the next few minutes."

"Edward, I –"

"Goddammit."

"Hear me out! God! I'm not in town."

"What the hell?"

"I had to go out of town for this new deal that I've been working on –"

"_What_ new deal? What are you even talking about?"

"– and it was kind of an unexpected, last minute call. I had to go – the interior designing thing, Edward, _that_'s what I'm talking about. My company. My dream. I had to go and I had every intention of coming back by today, but the meeting got postponed because this guy –"

"I can't even… You're about to break her heart, I hope you know that," I grit out, wanting nothing more than to throw this phone in the pool and pretend that this conversation never happened.

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't care? Edward, I'm not the best mother but I _am_ a mom. I had no idea this would happen."

I don't even bother replying.

"Just give her the phone; I'll talk to her. Edward, please."

I bang my head against the closed door, before walking back out and asking Sophie to come here. I catch Bella's eye and I think she knows, because as soon as she looks at me, her face falls too.

I close the door again and hand Sophie the phone. "It's Mom," is all I say. Her face lights up and I hate, hate, _hate_ Tanya because she is about to wipe off that smile.

"Mom! I got a lot of presents, and Dad says he has two more surprises and Mom, Aunt Alice is also here and Miss Lisbeth helped me find that dress you got me, and we're gonna cut the cake really soon! Where are you?"

I watch the smile I love disappear. I watch the happy eyes blurring with unshed tears.

"But Mom, it's my _birthday_! You promised!"

She listens carefully to whatever Tanya has to say, and without a word hands me the phone. I put it to my ear and catch the last of Tanya's sentence, "– day after tomorrow, Sophie, I promise."

"Goodbye, Tanya," I whisper, and end the call, feeling angry and sad and just…defeated. Sophie walks to the middle of the room, climbs up the bed, buries her face in the pillow and stabs my heart over and over with her sobs.

I go to her and stroke her hair, till she finally lifts up her head, only to bury it in my shirt.

"Shhh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry."

"Daddy, she – she promised!" she hiccoughs.

"I know, I know." I rock her back and forth for a while, trying not to cry right along.

"But I even wore her favorite dress!"

And my heart breaks right along with hers.

We sit like that for a long while, with her crying against my chest, as I search my brain for words of comfort, and fail to find any. What words can put together a broken heart?

I look up when there's a knock on the door.

"Hi there," Bella says. "Is it okay if I come in?"

I nudge Sophie, and am surprised to see her still awake and with silent tears still streaming down her face. She nods a little and only then does Bella walk in, closing the door behind her.

"Where is everyone?" I ask. "It's too quiet out there."

"Your parents took the kids to the…backyard," she says meaningfully as she sits beside us. "They were getting a little cranky, waiting for the birthday girl to cut the cake. Hey, birthday girl," she runs a finger down Sophie's cheek, wiping a tear, "don't you wanna cut the cake?"

Sophie shakes her head. "I'm sad," she croaks out, and I could just cry at how hoarse her voice is.

"We're all sad sometimes," Bella says gently. "You know, at one of my birthdays, I was very sad, too."

"You were?"

"Mm–hmm. And you know who made me happy again?"

She shakes her head.

"Your Dad. He can make everyone happy. And he buys the best presents too!"

Sophie smiles a little and looks up at me. "Daddy, what did you get me for my birthday?"

"I can't just tell you; you'll have to unwrap it yourself!"

"Can you bring it here?" she asks Bella.

"Nope. I can't even lift it; it's so big!"

I finally see a spark of excitement in Sophie's eyes. "Where is it?"

"In the storage closet," I tell her.

"Can we go there now, Daddy?"

"Um," Bella speaks up, "I think you should first thank your friends for coming. You have lovely friends, Sophie! I wish I had friends like that."

"Are they swimming in the backyard?"

"No, I think they are playing in the sandbox," I say with a smile.

Her eyes go wide. "Sandbox?"

"Mm–hmm."

"In the backyard?"

"You bet."

"Is that also my present?"

"There is also a swing set and a slide, from what your Dad told me." Bella's smile mirrors mine.

Suddenly Sophie is an excited five – six – year old again. "Let's go, Daddy! I wanna play in the sandbox, too! Remember, you made that best castle once, remember? And it doesn't matter if my dress gets dirty 'cause Mom's not here!" And as soon as she says that, her face dims again.

I quickly speak up. "And you can even cover your entire face with the yummiest chocolate cake ever! Grandma brought your favorite food, too. Oh, and did I tell you about the presents Alice got you?"

"But Daddy, I don't wanna cut my cake."

I kiss the top of her head. "Why not, sweetheart?"

"Because Mom can't see."

I look to Bella for help.

"Uh…" Bella looks at Sophie. "How about…you cut the cake with your Dad, and I'll record the whole thing on video, and then we can send that video to your Mom?"

Sophie sits up and moves closer to Bella. "Can you do that?" she asks in awe.

"Of course," Bella smiles. "Anything for the birthday girl. We can also show her that blue fish that I brought for you as a birthday present," she finishes with a wink.

Sophie opens and closes her mouth, quite like a fish herself. "Blue fish?"

Bella nods.

"Like the one we saw?"

"Yes!" Bella says with a laugh.

"Thank you, Bella! You're the best!" she says, and just about tackles Bella with a hug.

I look at Bella's surprised face, and then look down at her clenched fists against Sophie's back. Her knuckles are white. I reach out with my own hand, and gently place it over Bella's fists. I rub my thumb back and forth over her knuckles, till she relaxes her hand and twines her fingers with mine. I kiss the top of Sophie's head, and she removes one arm from around Bella's shoulders to include me in the hug.

When I place an arm around both of them, and Bella's head leans on my shoulder, I know that we'll be okay.


End file.
